


Out of Legends

by Soledad



Series: Moments of Joy [8]
Category: Andromeda (TV), Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-01 08:04:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 132,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17863529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soledad/pseuds/Soledad
Summary: Trying their luck with Hasturi’s map once again, theAndromedaends up in the Pegasus galaxy, 3000 years in the past. Will the Ancient knowledge stored in Atlantis help them get home again? - Rated for violence and other disturbing stuff.





	1. A Short Foreword

**FOREWORD**

This is **_a crossover and an AU_** , set in my "Moments of Joy" universe. Obviously. Which means that the same guest characters from other TV-shows will make appearances. Dr. Weir wears the first name Theresa and is still played by the wonderful Jessica Steen whom I much preferred to the other actress.

Those who have read the other parts of the series already know that I twisted canon a bit by having supporting characters in Atlantis who would only appear with one of the Earth ships at the end of Season 1. There were too many name- and faceless extras on the show; I wanted a less homogenous community. I added a few original Athosian characters for good measure, just to even things out a bit.

In this AU (as in practically all of my Andromeda-stories) Tyr has kept Freya with him after “Double Helix”, while still sending the rest of Orca Pride into exile. The Perseids Höhne and Rekeeb are aboard _Andromeda_ , bargaining for the use of Hasturi’s map, The Than hive is from my "Birthright" series, and their leader, the Diamond Than, is aboard to “study” Dylan Hunt’s actions before giving the Than government her opinion about joining the new Commonwealth.

All data about the "Andromeda" species are taken from the "All Systems University" website and are considered canon. Particularities about Athosian, Hoffan, etc. cultures are my doing.

And now on with the story!


	2. Chapter 1 - Slip Point Lost

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Although both species are canonically hermaphrodites, I’ve picked up the custom to mention Perseids as “he” and Than as “she”. I know it’s not entirely correct, but it makes things easier.  
> The quotes in italics are from “The Ancestor’s Breath”, Keith Hamilton Cobb’s own thoughts about Nietzscheans. Unfortunately, the website where they used to be posted has been gone for quite some time by now.  
> Beta read by erinnyes, whom I owe my never-ending gratitude.

**Chapter One - SLIP POINT LOST**

It was a particularly rough ride in slipstream. Beka might have managed to get them through a lot smoother, but Beka was still restricted to her quarters, recovering from her recent Flash overuse. Tyr was certain that he, too, would have performed the task a lot better than their esteemed captain – hell, _Harper_ would have done better! – but Dylan was not in the mood to leave his ship in the hands of anyone else. Not after the last near-disaster.

So Dylan had pulled rank, and the _Andromeda_ rode the uncommonly bumpy waves of slipstream for what seemed eternity. Already, several complaints from the Perseids and Than currently travelling with them as passengers had found their way to the command deck via the intercom system, but nobody had the time to care for them. Tyr exchanged concerned looks with Harper. At least the scrawny little _kludge_ had a healthy survival instinct, unlike Hunt who was led either by reckless bravado or by self-destructive idealism. Or that Magog that endeavoured to see beauty in every single destructive force of the universe that tried to kill them.

“Something’s wrong.” Harper voiced his worries. His pitch was half an octave higher than usual, which revealed his barely-hidden fear. “We should have reached a slipstream exit at least 20 seconds ago.”

“Well, there aren’t any,” Hunt snarled, shaking with effort to keep the ship in the right position. 

Or in the least disastrous one, anyway.

“My point exactly,” Harper commented. “We’re _lost_.”

“No, we’re _not_ ,” Dylan replied through gritted teeth. “ _Andromeda_ can open any slip-point on her own.”

“If there _are_ any slip-points at all,” Harper pointed out with infuriating logic. “And even if there were any, we’re already so far off-route that there’s no way to tell where we’ll fall back to normal space.”

“At this point,” Tyr declared sourly, “I’d be happy to come out of slipstream _anywhere_.”

“Slip-point ahead,” the calm, even voice of _Andromeda_ ’s main AI announced, and it rattled down the coordinates, while the avatar shot Tyr a challenging look. The Nietzschean ignored her.

“Brace yourselves,” Dylan shouted, steering the ship in the direction given by the AI.

The gravitational eddies of slipstream nearly tore the _Andromeda_ to pieces, and for a moment Harper, who was in love with every incarnation of the ship as only a devoted engineer could be, regretted the moment he’d set foot on it. But miraculously, after an exceedingly violent shake that sent Rev Bem flying out of his seat, they actually managed to fell out of slipstream, into a relatively dense area of…of whatever galaxy they happened to land in.

“We’re still alive,” Tyr stated with mild surprise. “Wonders never cease, it seems.”

“Yeah, but _where_ are we?” Harper asked. “I can’t remember any place like this.”

“Stellar configurations don’t match any of the three known galaxies,” Rev Bem got to his feet with minimal effort. Magog were tough. “Perhaps _Andromeda_ has older data from unexplored galaxies in her astrocartography database.”

“Accessing,” Rommie’s holographic image flickered to life next to Dylan’s chair. “Data confirmed. We’re in the Pegasus galaxy – a small galaxy of the local cluster. The Commonwealth never expanded its influence into this direction, and there’s little to no data about his area.”

“But surely they’ve sent at least scout ships to map the area,” Dylan said in exasperation.

“They have,” Rommie replied calmly, “but the scout ships tended to disappear here and never to reappear. The one or two that _did_ return had a mummified crew aboard. So the Commonwealth declared the Pegasus galaxy a quarantine zone and prohibited its fleet to enter the area. There even used to be a defence perimeter of automated mines and weapon platforms to stop ships coming from this galaxy. Fortunately, only one slipstream route led here, and guarding its other end was an easy task.

“Have there ever been any ships trying to make the transit?” Tyr asked with a frown.

“Not to my knowledge,” Rommie said. “It was a purely pre-emptive measure from the Commonwealth’s side.”

“And is there really no data about this galaxy at all?” Dylan asked in slight disappointment.

“Nothing aside from ghost stories,” Rommie rolled her holographic eyes in a very convincing manner. “Apparently, the Pegasus galaxy is populated by ‘space vampires’.”

“Space… vampires,” Dylan repeated blandly, while Harper cast a nervous look around him. He was rather superstitious, in a half-joking way, always adding that the worst horror stories couldn’t be half as bad as living on a Magog-infested Earth, under the iron boot of ‘the Drago-Kazov jerk-offs’, as he called the Nietzschean oppressors.

“Yes, Captain,” Rommie answered. “Space vampires that could suck life out of people by mere touch.”

“Which would explain the mummified bodies,” Rev Bem pointed out placidly.

Dylan shot him an irritated look. “Rev, you can’t take this seriously! There’s no such things as vampires, space-born ones or otherwise.”

“No,” Harper muttered under his breath, “we’re a lot less lucky. We got the _Übers_ and the Magog instead. At least you could repel vampires with garlic. Or with holy water. And they weren’t that hard to kill, either: a stake in the heart, and _boom_ – they were dust. Or you chopped off their head. That worked, too. And fire, and direct sunlight, and…”

“ _Mister_ Harper,” Dylan said warningly. 

Harper gave him an insulted look. “What? It’s true? Even Beka’s holonovels say that…”

“I wouldn’t call Beka’s holonovels a reliable source of information,” Dylan said with forced patience. “I’d suggest, that – instead of fantasizing wildly – we should start a systematic scan for habitable planets. We might find some local inhabitants.”

“And that would be good for us... how exactly?” Tyr asked “Ghost stories or not, the Commonwealth must have had a good reason to put this entire galaxy under quarantine.”

“Do you have any constructive suggestion?” Dylan asked back indignantly.

Tyr shrugged. “I suggest survival, as always. Let’s get out here as quickly as possible. Back on the way we have come.”

“That,” Rev Bem pointed out reasonably, “would get us back to where we were running from, ‘with our tails between our legs’, I think the Earth saying would phrase it. Back to mortal danger.”

“Perhaps,” Tyr allowed, “but at least that would be a _known_ danger. I prefer it to a quarantined galaxy any day.”

“I’m afraid that is not a possibility any longer,” Rommie chose this very moment to drop her bombshell. “The slip-point is gone.”

“What do you mean gone?” Harper always panicked easily, although never without a good reason. Being stuck in an uncharted galaxy full of space vampires was a _very_ good reason to panic, in his opinion. Tyr, although not one inclined to panic himself, could not blame the little _kludge_.

“ _Gone_ ,” Rommie repeated blandly. “As in ‘vanished’. Or in ‘not there anymore’. My sensors can’t find it.”

Dylan stared at the android with his mouth agape, which, to tell the truth, didn’t exactly improve his already battered looks. “That’s impossible!”

“Denying the fact wouldn’t change it, Captain,” Rommie said a bit indignantly. “The slip-point isn’t there. Either it collapsed due to our rough transit, or it shut down for some other reason. Whatever the cause is, it’s not there anymore. “We’ll have to find another route back.”

“Great idea,” Harper said sarcastically. “In a few hundred thousand years or so we even might reach one of the known galaxies.”

“I’m sure we’ll find another slip-point eventually,” Dylan said. “We need thorough scans of the area anyway. Rommie, you better start at once. Mr. Harper, you should consult your Perseid friends. I’ll inform the Than about this…unexpected development. Let’s meet in the mess hall in an hour again.”

He strode off without waiting for an answer, leaving a fairly stunned crew behind. 

Tyr was the first to move. “I need to speak with my wife. She would want to know what happened.”

Rev Bem made a generous wave with a clawed hand. “Go. I’ll keep watch on the command deck. It’s not so as if there would be much to do for an officer on duty right now.”

That was very true indeed, and so Harper and Tyr left the command deck, leaving the Magog and the android in charge. The engineer jogged down a few decks to the guest quarters, where the two Perseid scientist had been designed temporary accommodations, while the Nietzschean returned to his own quarters to inform his wife about the newest mishaps of their lives.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Technical Director Höhne, one of the lead scientists of the Perseid colony Sintii IV, had followed the events through the intercom system, of course. He and his assistant, a young field researcher named Rekeeb, had come aboard the _Andromeda Ascendant_ to examine the possible usefulness of Hasturi’s diary…about which Höhne had his personal doubts, to be honest. The late Wayfinder wasn’t called ‘The Mad Perseid’’ without a reason. But the possibility of finding previously unknown slipstream routes was simply too tempting to let it pass.

Besides, both he and Rekeeb welcomed the chance to work with Harper once again. After that most exciting experiment with the Hephaestus black hole, when they had made a connection – and even transported matter via radiation – not only through space but also time, he had kept contact with the human engineer. Despite his disorganized mind – a common genetic fault by all people of human origin – Harper showed the true streaks of genius sometimes, and Höhne wanted to put the young man’s gift to good use as long as he still could.

Unfortunately, that time would be cut short. It was tragic that Harped had got infested with Magog larvae and would die, soon. There was no help for that condition, Höhne knew that all too well, and though Harper’s larvae were dormant at the moment, that wouldn’t last forever. Once the little parasites developed an immunity against the serum that put them to sleep, they would begin to hatch. And _then_ , Harper’s only hope would be a swift and merciful death, dealt him by the steady hand of _Andromeda_ ’s resident Nietzschean.

At least the little human could trust that Anasazi wouldn’t let him go through the excruciating pain of being torn open from the inside. The Nietzschean’s survival instinct wouldn’t allow the things to hatch. Still, it was such a waste. With proper education, Harper could have become the greatest scientific mind of his generation. Even as a self-made engineer, he was excellent. A shame that he’d never get the chance to reach his full potential.

The beeping of his intercom unit interrupted his thoughts. To his surprise, the caller was Radiance of Wisdom. It was a rare thing that the bugs would contact him – Perseids and Than didn’t socialize as a rule; besides, Höhne and Rekeeb had just recently came aboard – and if the Sapphire Than felt the need to do so, it must have had a good reason. And that piqued Höhne’s curiosity.

“Yes, Ms Wisdom, how can I be of service?” he asked with the customary Perseid eagerness to solve a problem – _any_ problem. Perseids practically _lived_ for that sort of thing.

“I hope so, Technical Director,” crackled the artificial vocoder voice of the Than. “I’ve run into something… something strange. Would you mind to take a look and discuss the problem with me?”

“I’d _love_ it,” Höhne was on his way already. “Where are you?”

“In one of the astrophysics labs,” the Sapphire Than gave him the correct location.

“I thought those labs were all disabled and closed,” Höhne said, walking out of the door. The _Andromeda_ ’s comm system was integrated into the corridor bulkheads as well, so they could continue the conversation while he was walking towards his destination.

“They were,” Radiance of Wisdom replied, “but Than are not as sensitive to environmental discomfort as mammals. I’ve reinstalled a few of the instruments with Captain Hunt’s permission, did a few scans – and found something… disturbing.”

“More disturbing than Mr. Harper’s ghost stories?” Höhne giggled.

“It depends,” the Sapphire Than replied with scientific detachment.

“On what?” the Perseid couldn’t quite suppress a few more giggles. Really, young Mr. Harper’s superstitions were way too ridiculous for the scientific mind to take them seriously.

“On the question whether Mr. Harper’s ghost stories have an ounce of truth under all that colourful language,” the Than answered calmly.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Captain Dylan Hunt stared at the Sapphire Than in utter disbelief. It took him several moments – and repeated efforts – to press out the first question.

“You’ve found out _what_?” he asked.

“I compared the star charts from the Commonwealth era with my recent scans,” Radiance of Wisdom repeated, “and I’ve found significant differences. Significant in the scientific sense of the word, of course.”

“And from those differences you can simply conclude that we’ve landed three thousand years in the past?” Hunt shook his head. “No offence, Wisdom, but that’s ridiculous.”

“On the contrary, Captain,” Höhne replied seriously. “The expansion of the known universe is a universal constant, and its speed can be mathematically calculated – with sufficient accuracy. So yes, we can affirm that our ‘rough slipstream ride’, as you so elaborately put it, has not only thrown us into a previously unexplored galaxy, but also three thousand years in the past. Give or take a few decades.”

“Can we also confirm that we still are in the same universe?” Seeing the unbelieving glares aimed at him, Tyr Anasazi shrugged. “I am not a scientist, but I have read somewhere that the existence of parallel universes cannot be ruled out with scientific methods.”

“That’s true,” Höhne admitted, “and it was a logical question, actually. Unfortunately, it’s also a question that we can’t answer; not yet. It would require a thorough analysis on the quantum level – and instruments that we don’t have at our disposal.”

“Not even on a ship as advanced as the _Andromeda_?” Rev Bem frowned.

“I’m afraid not,” the ship’s avatar gave the Magog an apologetic look. “I’m a warship, Rev, not a research vessel. If Director Höhne and Wisdom need better instruments, somebody will have to build them.”

She looked at Harper pointedly. The little engineer rolled his eyes in exasperation. “I know, I know,” he grumbled. “More work for me.”

“As if you’d mind,” Beka grinned at him fondly.

“Not really,” Harper admitted. But he looked uncharacteristically tired, and his eyes were haunted. He hadn’t been himself since the events on the Magog worldship and frankly, who could blame him for that?

“That’s a waste of time,” Tyr commented.

Hunt gave him an annoyed look. “Do you have a better suggestion?”

“I have two,” the Nietzschean replied. “One: keep scanning for slip-points. There always should be some near matter, and we have an entire galaxy sitting in front of us, no matter how small it is. Sooner or later, we must find one, and from there on, it will be up to Captain Valentine’s navigating skills… which are considerable, for a mere human, as we’ve all seen.”

“Why, Tyr, I never knew you valued me so highly,” Beka riposted with false sweetness.

The Nietzschean turned unfathomable amber eyes to her. “Nonsense,” he said. “I’m just acknowledging a useful skill that could be serviceable for my survival.”

“Sure you do,” Beta grinned. “Now, what’s your other suggestion, in case we won’t find any slip-points?”

The Nietzschean shrugged. “We can always search for a sufficiently advanced planet in this galaxy. One where we might find help to get back home using some other method.”

“No!” Harper protested in obvious panic. “Nonono, we can’t go in there! Do you all want to end up as desiccated mummies?”

“Shut up, boy!” Tyr growled.

“No, I won’t shut up!” Harper’s fear overcame his natural wariness around Nietzscheans. “The Harper is entitled to panic every now and again. We’re not on Earth where the fucking _Übers_ like you get to boss little _kludges_ like me around, you know.”

“Perhaps,” agreed Tyr amiably, “but I can still stuff you into a duct pipe and seal the hatch behind you with a nanowelder.”

“Tyr, I won’t allow you to harm my only engineer,” Rommie warned. Her eyes were cold and protective; it was clear that she meant it.

“Nobody will come to harm here today,” Hunt intervened in his usual superior manner. “But you must admit, Tyr, that Harper does have a point. I don’t mean the so-called space vampires, of course, but there’s a fair chance that the borders of this galaxy are still mined.”

“That is what we have long-range sensors and point defence lasers for,” Tyr shrugged. “Sitting here in the starless void won’t help us getting back. I for my part am for going forward.”

“ _He_ does have a point, too,” Rev Bem commented placidly.

Hunt shook his head. “This is ridiculous,” he protested. “Even if we manage to clear the minefield in one piece, where are we supposed to go? This galaxy has never been charted, we don’t have any maps.”

“No,” Beta said with a broad grin. “We have something better. We’ve got _Trance_.”

The purple girl gave her an alarmed look. “People, I really don’t know…” she began nervously.

“Don’t worry,” Beka patted her back. “You’ll find the right way for us. You always do.”

Trance still looked rather doubtful but chose _not_ to voice her doubts – for the time being anyway. The others (with the exception of Harper, of course, who didn’t stop protecting all the time) came to the consensus that Tyr’s plan, if somewhat vague, was still the only one that promised at least a slim chance for success. So it was decided that they would give it a try.

“First of all, we need to find out whether the mines are still in place,” Hunt said. “Rommie, do we have the coordinates where they originally have been placed?”

“Yes,” the android replied promptly. “According to my database, they have been set out in CY 7986, some two hundred years after the Than became members of the Commonwealth.”

“Director Höhne,” Hunt turned to the Perseid, “can you and Radiance of Wisdom calculate how much the mines must have been drifted apart in the meantime?”

“Of course,” the Perseid nodded excitedly; several times, in fact. “That’s not such a long time, not on the cosmic scale of things.”

“Besides,” Rommie added, “High Guard mines were semi-intelligent and well able to correct their course if necessary.”

“Assuming that we’re still in our own universe,” Rev Bem added serenely. “Otherwise we can’t count on the existence of the Commonwealth… or that of the High Guard…now or in the future.”

“Let’s deal with first things first,” Hunt said, obviously unwilling to consider that possibility. “We’ll act as if we were sure that we’ve landed in our own past. Mr. Höhne, Wisdom, do the calculations. Rommie, call up the old maps and do the sensor sweeps. The others are dismissed.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
“What are we going to do if we find out that we have landed in a different universe?” Freya asked. “Or if we cannot return to our own time? Even if this is our own universe, it would still take at least two thousand years for Paul Museveni to create our race.”

She was resting on the couch in the living room of what had once been the quarters of Gaheris Rhade, the _Andromeda_ ’s first officer. As Rhade had been a Nietzschean himself, the sombre, Spartan elegance of his quarters matched the taste of Tyr and Freya quite well – neither of them was attracted to flashy things. Freya particularly liked this dark leather couch with its dark blue velvet cushions – although she wasn’t showing yet, even Nietzschean women tired more easily in the first phase of pregnancy, and the couch was of just the right height to get up again easily after a short nap.

“We shall do what we always do.” Tyr laid a gentle hand upon the barely visible bulge of her stomach. “We shall survive. And if we cannot find a way back, we shall begin our new Pride here. In this time – or in this universe.”

Freya grinned up into his face.

“You would like that, wouldn’t you?” she asked. “A different universe. A fresh start. Recreating our entire species from the scratch. Becoming the forefather of the Nietzschean people, two thousand years before Drago himself.”

“The thought _does_ have its attraction,” Tyr admitted. “After all, is it not the ultimate goal of every Nietzschean to outdo not only his enemies but also fate? My father used to say to me when I was but a young boy: _You are the centre of the wheel. All things revolve about you. You are the only god; your strength the greatest strength; your arm the fellest arm._ He repeated it every time my mother called him to her chambers to spend the night with her. At that time, I did not understand what he meant.”

“And now you do?” Freya asked doubtfully.

Tyr nodded. “The recent events of my life made me believe in destiny. If that is the only way to prevail, I am willing to stay here. In this time. In this universe, if it has to be. Whatever way, it is my destiny to recreate my Pride – and it has already begun, with the child you are carrying.”

“Perhaps,” Freya allowed, not yet ready to accept it. “But what about the others? We have each other – and your destiny, if you want to put it that way. _They_ are alone. Lost. They would wish to go back, no matter what the costs are.”

“I know,” Tyr said. “It is understandable. They have a lot to lose – even Harper. His only hope to get rid of the larvae lies back where we came from… slim as it might be. Only with the help of Perseid technology can he hope to reverse engineer that tesseract device – and that technology is on Sintii IV, not here.”

“What if we can never get back?” Freya asked. “What will become of the little man if we are stranded here forever?”

“He is sentenced to death,” Tyr replied grimly. “Eventually, the larvae will hatch. And then, I will have no other choice than to kill him. I cannot allow those monsters to infest another time…or another universe. There is no other way. Besides, it would be merciful to Harper to make it as quick and painless as possible.”

“And yet you regret it,” Freya said. It was not a question.

Tyr nodded. “It will be a shameful waste. A brilliant human physicist who lived not much after Nietzsche himself said once: _A human being is part of the whole called by us 'the universe,' a part limited in time and space. Yet limited as that part might be, once it is gone, the universe will lose something of its infinite diversity_. And the loss of this particular human being is something we shall sorely feel, once he is gone. Harper is useful, even brilliant in his limited human ways. His potential could have served my purposes in many different ways.”

“Do you truly believe that you could have won him over to your side?” Freya asked doubtfully.

Tyr shrugged. “I could have tried.”

“And failed,” Freya said. “He hates us – and he had reasons. Good reasons, considering his inferior point of view.”

“He hates the Magog more than he hates us,” Tyr pointed out. “And yet he has crewed with Rev Bem for many years.”

“Rev Bem is not a typical Magog,” Freya reminded him.

“Oh, yes, he is,” Tyr replied with a dark smile. “Under that fancy robe of his, behind all those platitudes, he is still a bloodthirsty monster. And Harper seems to be the only one – with the exception of us both – who can feel it. Instinct, I guess. It comes from growing up on Earth.”

“You are mistaken,” Freya said. “Harper and Rev Bem are friends.”

“As far as one can be friends with one’s own dinner,” Tyr answered grimly. “Harper is not a fool. He is as wary around the Magog as he is around me or you. Always watchful. He is a true survivor – a pity that he will not survive much longer.”


	3. Chapter 2 - Terra Atlantica

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who like to skip the introductions: remember, my Dr. Weir is Jessica Steen’s character from “Lost City”. It was so different from the one played by Torri Higginson that I consider them two different people. Major Ralf Vogel is an OC, modelled after a lawyer on a German court show. Michael Naseband has been borrowed from a German cop show, where he basically plays himself.  
> This chapter takes place during "The Siege, Part 1" – just under slightly altered circumstances. Hence the civilian (well, at least non-military) security teams that have come with the European scientists.

**Chapter Two - TERRA ATLANTICA**

Tempers in Atlantis’ Gate room were strangely subdued – had been ever since Dr. Zelenka had discovered the approach of the Wraith hive ships a week earlier, actually. And honestly, who could blame the people on night duty for being all stressed out? They were in a fairly hopeless situation. The enemy outnumbered and outgunned them on a scale they couldn’t even calculate; they didn’t have the means to power up the shields… or the cloak… or the command chair, which would have given them at least a slim chance to protect themselves.

The best thing they could hope for was to evacuate to the Alpha Site and destroy Atlantis, so that the Wraith would never find a way to Earth. And even that wasn’t an easy thing. Blowing up the city wasn’t going to be enough. They needed to wipe the Ancient databases clean, so that the Wraith wouldn’t be able to reverse engineer the stardrive. Or the Stargate. Or the ZPMs. Or anything else that could become a threat for Earth in their hands.

Which meant the irreparable loss of the almost the entire Ancient knowledge – for them as well as for the Wraith. According to Dr. Zelenka’s calculations, only seven to eight per cent of the accumulated data could be backed up using all available hard drives, even with an advanced version of Dr. McKay’s data compression program.

That in itself was bad enough. But who was truly qualified to decide _what_ they should save? Since their arrival, they had barely scratched the surface of the vast knowledge that had been waiting for them for ten thousand years. And now all would be lost, forever – unless they could find another Ancient repository somewhen in the future, like the one General O’Neill had the questionable luck to access. Twice.

Both of which times he nearly died from the data overload. There definitely was such thing as too much of the good stuff.

Dr. Theresa Weir sighed, raked her fingers through her short, blonde tresses and rubbed her burning eyes. This whole expedition had sure as hell turned out differently than she’d hoped. The power shortage, the desperate search for a new power source that had resulted in the waking up the Wraith, the nanovirus that had killed a number of talented scientists just a few weeks earlier, the Genii who’d proved almost as bad as the Wraith themselves, the constant bickering with Major Sheppard who believed to know everything better, just because he had a penis… all that was becoming a little too much for her.

To be completely honest, she’d long regretted insisting on Sheppard’s participation. The man was impossible – a self-righteous, unable-to-comply male chauvinist. _And_ he was a liability, especially since he’d set his mind to getting into Teyla’s pants. So far without success, apparently.

Which was surprising, considering how besotted Teyla had seemed to be with him, at least in the first couple of months. Like some lovesick teenager. And since she’d apparently had a change of heart, they’d been so preoccupied with their private little dominance war that they had barely enough time to do their jobs. _That_ should be considered a leader? Small wonder that the Athosians had turned against Teyla and chose to follow Halling to the mainland.

Well, Theresa thought, at least Sheppard won’t be able to undermine her authority from the position of military power any longer. The trial after the nanovirus accident had taken care of _that_. And Major Ralph Vogel, the new military commander of the city, was a reasonable and disciplined man – plus he had the natural gene, too. Not as strong as Sheppard’s, but a working one; and he wasn’t afraid to use it.

If it weren’t for the imminent threat of the Wraith hive ships, Theresa would have been fairly content with the changes in Atlantis’ command structure. She’d always wanted to have more civilian control over the expedition than the US military would let her have. Replacing Sergeant Bates with Kommissar Naseband had proved an excellent choice. The experienced German police detective had security matters under control, and was a lot easier to work with than Bates.

Surprisingly enough, Bates could work with the man smoothly enough. Naseband having served as the security chief on the border of Kosovo had taught him how to deal with the military, so Theresa didn’t have to expect problems from that side. Bates had also accepted Lieutenant Ford’s reassignment to his team without protest. Partly because he actually liked Ford, just as he liked his own kid brother, partly because it had always been a stupid thing to have two of the few available officers on the same team.

Sheppard’s team got a battle-hardened Marine in Ford’s stead: Gunnery Sergeant Galindez, who’d worked for the JAG and fought in Afghanistan, and had also been a sheriff for some time. Officially, he was there as the new demolitions expert, but everyone knew that his true job was to keep an eye on his cantankerous commanding officer.

The teams had just returned from their various destinations, and she was now expected in the briefing room to discuss the potential choices with the team leaders. Those choices were depressingly slim, she knew that, but they _had_ to evacuate _somewhere_ – when the Wraith ships arrived, Atlantis had to be gone, irrevocably. There was no other way.

The thought depressed her to no end. The city that they’d woken from its ten-thousand-year-old slumber wasn’t just the greatest discovery since the beginning of the Starfleet program; it had been their home for some time by now. And now they had to destroy it… after having lost dear friends in its defence. Yeah, it _was_ depressing. But they had no other choice, or millions on Earth would die. They couldn’t let the Wraith loose on the clueless people of Earth.

She sighed and rose from her seat. She’d been brooding long enough. It was time to face what had to be done.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
The briefing room was unusually crowded when she entered. All team leaders were present, of course, sitting at the triangular conference table, with a laptop in front of each of them. But Sergeant Bates was also there, sitting next to the nervous and clearly unhappy Ford, ready to supply the necessary data if added. It made sense, actually. Unlike Ford, Bates had been an experienced team leader and a seasoned veteran who had fought both in Afghanistan and Iraq and lived to tell the tale. One couldn’t blame Ford for relying on him heavily.

Major Vogel, tall, ash blond and coldly handsome in his peculiar Nordic way, was also present, of course. Not only as the new military commander of Atlantis but also as the leader – and pilot – of Team 3, flanked by Michael Naseband, a big, bald man of easy manners and a wicked sense of humour. The petite blonde in their company, Alexandra Rietz, was Naseband’s second in command in security, and a former colleague. She also worked as Dr. Weir’s aide in the matters of city government, as she had a degree in that stuff. She _might_ look like a doll, but she was a crack shot and as tough as nails.

Sergeant Stackhouse, the leader of Team 4 had brought his new pilot with him. Lieutenant Annalisa Lindstrom was a slim, deceivingly mild-faced woman with an artificial ATA-gene that worked surprisingly well – perhaps the fact that she’d been an excellent pilot already helped a lot. Everybody had been surprised that Stackhouse would choose her after Markham’s tragic death, when there would have been other choices. But then, Dr. Weir thought, it was perhaps understandable. Markham had been Stackhouse’s best friends from the sandbox on; perhaps it was easier for him to see this slender blonde woman in the pilot’s chair because she couldn’t in any way remind him of Markham. She was blonde, female, and a foreigner – the difference was safe enough.

Major Sheppard, as usual, had dragged his entire team to the meeting… not that one could have hindered Rodney McKay in coming anyway. And Rodney had brought Dr. Zelenka, although technically, they both should have worked on the data compression. But Rodney _hated_ to be left out of _anything_ ; and besides, by the look of them, they both sorely needed a break.

Peter Grodin was present, as usual, as was Dr. Beckett, who needed to be informed about the state of evacuation procedures, so that he could say prepared for everything. And, of course, Halling had been invited to the meeting as well. As the leader of the Athosian people, he _needed_ to know what to expect.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” Dr. Weir nodded in the general direction of everyone and dropped into her usual seat, “let’s make this short. Give me an overall view about our state.”

“According to my calculations, we have less than one week before hive ships arrive,” Zelenka told her grimly.

Theresa winced. “That’s not a lot of time. Options?”

“You mean besides crying ourselves to sleep?” Rodney asked sarcastically. 

At least a dozen pairs of eyes turned to him with various degrees of annoyance. Including Zelenka’s, who gave him that peculiar look over the rim of his glasses, resolved for lower life forms.

“What?” he snapped, irritated. “I wasn’t speaking of _me_!” _I haven’t_ slept in days.”

Which, Dr. Weir knew, was undoubtedly true. Rodney lived on very little sleep, even under normal circumstances, his over-active mind always at work, even unconsciously. During a crisis, he simply skipped sleeping, running on coffee and adrenaline until he collapsed. Right now, however, Zelenka looked as if he’d done the same lately.

“And what do you have to show for your sleepless night, Rodney?” Theresa Weir asked, feeling a strange fondness for these two men whose excellent minds had already saved them several times.

“Well,” Rodney launched into what seemed to be a lengthy explanation, “since we’ve got here, we’ve uncovered a number of defensive weapons systems beyond the shield. Wh...”

“None of which would have real impact, with no ZPM to power them,” Zelenka interrupted him. “So we decided our best option would be control chair.”

Rodney shot him an irritated look. “I was gonna say that, you know!”

“Yes, but you were taking too long as usual,” Zelenka riposted tiredly. “Besides, it’s moot point now. We haven’t even been able to initialise chair yet, much less determine whether we can meet power requirements to run it,” the complete lack of articles showed how utterly exhausted he had to be. His English was usually a lot better.

“Which we do _not_ ,” Rodney snapped. “ _If_ we could initialize the chair, we could run the shield at full force, too. Which we can’t either.”

“It all comes down to power shortage,” Zelenka agreed, closing his eyes for a moment. “If there isn’t enough power, not even strongest ATA gene is of any use. We’ve put Major Sheppard into chair – he is strongest natural gene carrier – and… _nothing_.”

“So we can write off the command chair as a defence weapon,” Major Vogel summarized.

Rodney glared daggers at him. “ _That_ was what we’ve been _speaking_ about for, oh, half an hour, wasn’t it?”

“Just trying to see the biggest picture, Doctor McKay,” the handsome German officer said calmly. “So, if the command chair is out of question, what other options _do_ we have?”

In moments like these, Theresa Weir thanked all higher powers for sending her Ralph Vogel. The man’s unshakable calm was a divine gift, after having had to listen Sheppard and McKay sniping at each other for almost a year.

“Well,” Rodney launched into another long explanation, “since Teyla’s been able to connect the Wraith on those ships…”

“… and thus compromise our safety,” Bates commented _sotto voce_ , but loud enough for everyone to hear. 

It earned him a murderous glare from Sheppard, but Rodney, now in full swing, ignored him happily.

“… she also realised that the hive ships will go right past the only surviving LaGrange point satellite.”

There were identical blank looks from the military personnel present, regardless of rank, origins and citizenship.

“The weapon platform poor Doctor Gall discovered shortly before his death,” Peter Grodin supplied helpfully.

“The last of what we assume were dozens of defence satellites destroyed during Ancients’ last stand with Wraith,” Zelenka added.

McKay glared at his colleagues in annoyance. He really, _really_ hated when they kept interrupting him like that.

“Yes, yes, yes,” he said impatiently. “The point is, we think we can use it to our advantage.”

“I thought you said it was dead,” Sheppard commented dryly.

McKay rolled his eyes. “Well, yes, it _is_ , but we think we’ve learned enough about how it works to bring it back,” he said.

“That’s excellent news, Doctor McKay!” Major Vogel’s ears perked up visibly, but Zelenka dampened his enthusiasm at once.

“ _If_ we are right about what is wrong with it,” the scruffy little Czech emphasized. “There are no guarantees, Major.”

“Yes, _of course_ if we’re right about what’s wrong with it!” McKay glanced at his right-hand-man who’d just turned out to be the Czech Judas version of a backstabbing traitor. “But if we’re right, and it’s just out of power, the Wraith have simply been ignoring it.”

“That’s a possibility, but do we have any means to power it up?” Major Vogel asked. He counted as a good pilot but had no great understanding for technology beyond flying his own plane – or, in the current case, puddle-jumper – as he was a military attorney by trade and had originally been sent to Atlantis as a member of the administrative staff.

Zelenka nodded. “Our preliminary estimates indicate a single _naquadah_ generator would be enough to bring it back online,” he said.

“Why can’t we use our generators to get the weapons systems of Atlantis working?” Lieutenant Ford asked with a frown.

“Because those systems were designed to be powered by Zero Point Module – and satellite weapon is _not_ ,” Zelenka explained.

“It sounds… promising,” Theresa Weir said, allowing herself the luxury of some faint hope. But even if you _could_ get the satellite back online, would it be powerful enough to take out a Wraith hive ship?”

McKay nodded. “According to the Ancient database, it should be able to take out _all three_ when fully charged.”

“All three?” Major Vogel sounded duly impressed. “That’s a lot of firepower.”

"Well, yes, keep in mind that the Ancient technology was far superior,” Rodney said. “They only lost the war because they were vastly outnumbered.”

“Well, _we’re_ vastly outnumbered, too,” Sheppard reminded him sourly.

“ _And_ outgunned,” Bates added darkly, as if he were personally insulted by that fact.

“But _they_ don’t see satellite as threat,” Zelenka countered.

“Gentlemen,” Dr. Weir warned them in a tone that made them shut up at once – Zelenka because he respected her immensely, and Sheppard because he’d tried to get back to her good side ever since he’d got busted down from his former position.

“So, you think this could be done?” she asked, turning to Rodney.

The scientist shrugged. “In military parlance, surprise ... is an element on our side.”

“All right,” Theresa nodded. “What do you need?”

McKay thought for a moment. “The satellite’s fifteen hours away by shuttle,” he adamantly refused the little ships ‘puddle-jumper’, declaring that it was a ridiculously unscientific term. “I recommend that we put together a small crew – say myself, Grodin and a pilot…”

“I’ll go,” Sheppard offered, eager to get out into space again, but Theresa silenced her with a cold glare.

“I don’t think so, Major. Miller can handle it. I need all team leaders to keep searching for alternate Alpha Sites, just in case this fails.”

“For which we have a fifty per cent chance,” Grodin added soberly. “Doctor Weir, I think Rodney, Radek and I should start preparations at once. Six days aren’t such a long time, and that’s supposed the Wraith won’t accelerate. We’re going to need every last minute of that time.”

“Very well,” Theresa nodded, “go then. We can discuss the Alpha Site problem without you.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
After the scientists had left, she turned to Bates, who’d been coordinating the efforts to establish an Alpha Site from the beginning. This was one piece of responsibility left in his capable hands, even after his trial.

“Well, Sergeant; how far had we come with establishing the originally selected Alpha Site before the Wraith showed up and tagged the planet?”

“We’d completed the ground and aerial security sweep and were ready to begin establishing base camp, ma’am,” Bates replied. "We were just awaiting final inspection by Major Sheppard… I mean, Major _Vogel_ ,” he corrected himself, still having difficulties to adapt the new situation. Getting orders from a flyboy had been bad enough for any self-respecting Marine; getting orders from a _foreign_ flyboy, and a _lawyer_ at that, was worse. _Much_ worse.

It was a good thing that Major Vogel didn’t have self-confidence issues.

“So, there was no equipment left behind?” Dr. Weir asked, coldly ignoring Sheppard’s smug expression.

Bates shook his head. “No, ma’am. Everything is still packed and ready for transport. We just need the right planet where we can unpack ’em and build the camp from the scratch.”

“Do you have a suggestion?” Dr. Weir asked.

Bates nodded. “M85-393. It has extensive sweet water depots, and Doctor Brown says the soil is unusually fertile. The Athosians,” he nodded to Halling in acknowledgement; as much as he mistrusted the locals in general and Teyla in particular, he couldn’t fell anything but respect toward this strong, quiet man, “could have good harvests there.”

Which was an excellent point. Since they were partially responsible for the Athosians’ loss of their home planet, they had to take their needs into consideration. And an agrarian society needed fertile soil to survive. The Athosians were good hunters, but one couldn’t live from hunting alone. Especially when they had to feed the expedition, too, at least partially.

“Sounds promising,” Dr. Weir agreed, but Sheppard shook his head.

“Bad idea,” he said. “Your team has only been there at night, Sergeant; that planet has _two_ frigging suns! Can you imagine how ridiculously hot could it get during the day?”

“No, sir, I haven’t the slightest idea,” Bates replied, “which is why I think we should return there during daytime and do some survey. That’s what we have the geeks… I mean, the _scientists_ for. I still think it’s an option – though not an ideal one, perhaps.”

“We don’t need _ideal_ ,” Dr. Weir said. “At the moment, I think we’d settle for _close_. Very well, Sergeant, let’s give a try. Lieutenant Ford,” she looked at the young officer, “your team leaves for M85-393 at the usual time, first thing in the morning.”

Ford nodded. “Understood, ma’am.”

“We should rather try M4H-212,” Sheppard said. “It has a small but flourishing population that would make excellent trading partners…”

“… _and_ it is crawling with Genii spies,” Bates said. Sheppard gave him a sour look.

“You know that for a fact, Sergeant, or is your spidey sense just tingling?” he demanded.

Bates smiled at him in the manner of a hungry shark. “It’s a fact, sir. Your team is good at finding Ancient tech that tries to kill you in new and creative ways. _My_ team is good at establishing contacts and forging alliances.”

“And _my_ team is good at finding edible things,” Stackhouse added, with a pale shadow of his usual grin. “Besides, Gene, it’s Lieutenant Ford’s team now. How about M1M-316, though? It has lush surroundings, and as far as we can tell, it seems uninhabited.”

“I’ll get my team together and check it out,” Sheppard said. Dr. Weir shook her head.

“No, I think it’s better when Sergeant Stackhouse’s team goes. They’ve already been there; they’ll have it easier to find their bearings.”

“I’d like to go with them,” Halling spoke for the first time. “To see if it’s suited for growing crop. And to talk to the inhabitants, should there be any, after all.”

That made sense, but Dr. Weir didn’t want to _order_ Stackhouse to take Halling with them. Due to Bates’ paranoia, things between Marines and Athosians were generally a bit… tense, at the best of times. And the current times certainly weren’t the best.

“Sergeant?” she asked.

To her relief, Stackhouse nodded in agreement.

“That’s a good idea, ma’am. Halling has accompanied us before, and we always had good results together.”

“Good; it’s settled, then,” Dr. Weir studied the other numbers on her laptop screen. “Major Vogel, was it your team that visited M1K-439? Perhaps you should take a second look – the data seem promising.”

“Which one is that exactly?” Vogel asked.

“Planet Waterfall,” Ford supplied helpfully. Sheppard glared at him, and he bristled. “What? It _does_ have lots of waterfalls. We should just give those planets names. It would be easier that way. Those codes say one _nothing_.”

“Says he who spectacularly sucked in the prime/not prime game,” Sheppard commented smugly. Ford’s eyes darkened in anger and humiliation.

“I might not be very good at maths,” he said slowly, deliberately, “but at least I’m fairly good at following orders… _sir_.”

The briefing room became eerily silent. This was the first time that someone from the US military rubbed _that_ under Sheppard’s nose – and it had to be Ford, of all people, who’d used to admire him with an almost child-like devotion. But the fact was that the young man had done a great deal of growing up since he’d become the new leader of Bates’ team – a team where half the people could have been his father. He’d learned to give orders people twice his age and not to back off. He’d learned to accept responsibility for their lives and for the success of their mission. And while he _did_ rely on Bates a great deal – he’d have been a fool not to – he’d gradually grown up to the burden of command and dealt with it surprisingly well.

He’d also come to understand that he’d never have reached that state when remaining in Sheppard’s team. Bates might have been stubborn and paranoid and a general pain in the ass sometimes, but under his guiding hand Ford had learned how to do things _properly_ ; how to follow regulations and when to bend them a little. In fact, he’d realized that Bates was far less brick-headed than most people thought.

Sheppard didn’t take the jab well, of course, but before he could have exploded into Ford’s face, Dr. Weir smoothly interfered.

“All right then, gentleman. Major Sheppard, I’d like your team to go back to Orin’s planet. See if anyone has survived the Wraith culling.”

“What for?” Sheppard asked. “If they have, they’re safe now. The Wraith have moved on.”

“And left a wide streak of destruction behind them,” Dr. Weir pointed out. “Those people, if there _are_ any, need help.”

“Well, by all due respect, so do we,” Sheppard riposted.

“True,” Theresa nodded, “but we have a planetary Stargate. We can move on. They have no means to reach their orbital Gate, unless we help them.”

“So you want me to bring them here, where they’d be in a lot worse danger?” Sheppard asked her incredulously.

“They won’t be,” she replied. “A handful of survivors are for the Wraith of no interest. They can gate to other planets and find refuge among the local population. But it’s our duty to make that possible for them.”

“And why would that be our duty?” Sheppard reminded.

She gave him a long, chilly glare.

“Well… _we_ have been the ones to wake up the Wraith, weren’t we?” She finally asked. “ _We_ are responsible for the cullings becoming so frequent and thorough. It’s our responsibility to make amends wherever we can.”


	4. Chapter 03 - First Contact

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few lines of Harper's monologue are a rewritten version of what was said in "Exit Strategies" - similar, but slightly different ones.

**Chapter Three - FIRST CONTACT**

Performing a thorough scan for slip points on the border of a previously uncharted galaxy had taken days, even for a sentient ship as advanced as the _Andromeda Ascendant_. In the meanwhile, the two Perseids and the Sapphire Than had been busily calculating the possible locations of the nearly eight-thousand-year-old Commonwealth-issue mines that were supposed to booby-trap aforementioned borders. Tyr and Freya had followed their daily routine, Beka had been fighting the aftermath of her involuntary Flash addiction, Harper had freaked out every time Rev Bem got closer to him than arm’s length, Captain Hunt was brooding, and Trance… well, she was _Trance_.

In other ways, everything was pretty much the same old routine, save for the not-so-insignificant fact that they were lost between galaxies, with no slip point in sight and very little hope to get home. Ever. And that Harper was living out the last weeks of his young life with a death sentence hanging above his head – a fact nobody seemed all too worried about.

“I can understand them, I really can,” Harper told his nearly empty bottle of _New Bayern Weissbräu_ , down in a conduit near the machine shops, where he was trying to drown his worries in top-quality booze. “They’ve got their own problems, what with being lost and stuff. And Her Purpleness is probably feeling bad for not being able to heal me the same way she healed Tyr. Too bad, but it wasn’t her fault. Tyr’s nearly bought the farm himself, and I’m just a scrawny little _kludge_. I’d never live through that amount of poison and radiation she used on Tyr.”

He took another sip from the beer and kept musing.

“Hey, at least she and Rommie exempted me from the clean-up afterwards. I don’t think I could have gone down to the engine room right then – or anywhere else where I had been attacked. It stunk like Magog and I was feeling a little Magog-o-phobic right then. Hell, I’ve felt like that ever since… since I got infested. Even with the Rev, although he’s an okay guys as Magog go… and he’s practically family now.”

He made a bitter snort, drank another sip of beer from the bottle, then laid it aside and picked up a scanner that he’d lifted from the medical deck in an unobserved moment. He aimed it at his stomach to see his… _passengers_ , as he’d come to call the larvae. It sounded less threatening, less… _real_ that way.

“How’s going, fellas?” he asked in a casual manner, trying to separate the thirteen little time bombs ticking inside his body, hiding almost invisibly here and there: a cluster of them slumbering a little further over, another one down and a couple of separate ones even further, all wrapped around organs between his breastbone and his pelvic bone.

“Are ya comfy in there?” he asked sarcastically, reaching out with his free hand for the beer bottle. “Getting enough beer, hmm?” What about ya, turd-brain?” he asked the creature that was nestled alone, closest to his liver. “No? Well, how about some more?”

He drank some more and shook his head, remembering the excruciating pain whenever the larvae showed any indication to wake up… which they’d have done quite some time ago if not for the Rev’s serum.

“You’re never satisfied, are ya?” he mused, sloshing the rest of the beer around in the bottle. “Ya freakin’, thievin’, thankless little parasites are just never happy. I give you a home, food, conversation – and what give you me in return? Grief. Pain that feels like hot friggin’ knives in my intestines – and cold shivers and hot shivers and all that.”

He finished the bottle and turned to put it back the case with his secret stash – only to notice that all the other bottles in the case were empty, too.

“Oh, damn,” he said in a tone that was more actually sad than angry. “You worms have managed to drink all my _New Bayern Weissbräu_ , right? Now what the heck have I got to live for? A big fat nothin', and that’s a fact.”

He pushed away the scanner, not caring that the sensitive tool had a rather hard landing on the floor and pulled out his gun, aiming it at his stomach.

“I think it’s time to take care for you, once and forever,” he told the dormant larvae. “Now, let’s do it quickly and painlessly. You, Stinky, Turd-brain, and all the others, line up against the stomach wall! It will only take a moment, I promise you… not like the thing you’ve in planning for me, if I may remind you.”

He took a second to turn off the safety on the gun, but before he could actually pull the trigger, the large, dark hand of Tyr Anasazi grabbed his smaller, pale one and turned away with slow, irresistible force.

“That was not part of our agreement, boy,” the Nietzschean said with hair-raising calmness.

“Go ‘way!” Harper growled, very angry that he’d been interrupted in the very moment when he’d finally brought up the courage to deal with his hopeless situation the only possible way.

“I do not think so,” the Nietzschean replied. “According to our agreement, this is _my_ job, should the time come when it has to be done. It is not here yet.”

“Oh, give me a freakin' break!” Harper practically exploded. “Now or in a week, or in two weeks, what difference does it make? I’m dead meat walking anyway. Have you ever seen someone being ripped open by hatching Magog?”

Tyr shook his head mutely, but he’d peeled Harper’s fingers off the gun already.

“Well, _I have_ ,” Harper continued. “Granted, we usually arrived when it was already over, although the blood and gunk and ribs all over the place weren’t a pretty sight, either. Or, if we’d come in time, we simply put the victims down to spare them living through _that_ – like my uncle was forced to do with his own sons. But once, just once, I had the bad luck to arrive when the show was just starting… oh God, that terrible wet, tearing sound… I can still hear it in my nightmares. I’ve dreamed about that every night since I got infested. And that’s why I don't wanna live another day with these freakin' monsters inside of me. If I have to die anyway, I want a nice, clean death, you know… not one like _that_.”

“You won’t,” Tyr promised solemnly. “I gave you my word, and I shall not arrive late. I never do. But you should not give up just yet. There still can be a way out of this situation for you.”

Harper made a sound that was the strange combination of a snort, a sob and a laugh.

“Thanks, Big Guy, but there's no cure for this, and you know it,” he said simply. “I got an irrevocable appointment with a painful, horrible, violent death, and no one can fix me. No one. It’s truly reassuring, though, that you and your big gun will be there for me in time.”

“It should be,” Tyr grinned. “I am known as a very reliable assassin… well, I used to be one anyway. But enough dark brooding for one day. Come with me to the bridge now. The chinheads and the blue bug have finished mapping the minefield, and it seems that the ship has actually found a slip point.”

“Really?” Harper’s insatiable curiosity made him forget his hopeless situation for a moment. “ _That_ I have to see! I guess Captain Terrific wanna pilot the _Andromeda_ himself again, hmmm?”

“That had been his intention indeed,” Tyr replied. “But the Diamond Than had objections, and she was very… vocal and long-winded about them, so that in the end our esteemed captain gave in and allowed the red bug to take over.”

“Thank the Divine!” Harper began to jog in order to keep up with the Nietzschean’s long stride. “Ruby Than are usually excellent pilots, and Starlight is even better than most. We might survive this trip in slipstream, after all.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
When they reached the command deck, nearly the whole crew had already gathered there (not that _that_ would be such a large number, though). Only the four Amber Than workers (nicknamed by Harper as Brownie #1 through Brownie #4) remained on the machine deck. Nonetheless, the Than were represented all over the command deck. Radiance of Wisdom manned the main science station, the Ruby Than was sitting in the slipstream chair, and one of the Emerald Than had taken Tyr’s usual place at the weapons controls.

Dylan Hunt, sitting in the command chair as usual, gave Tyr and Harper a sarcastic smile.

“I see you’ve found out missing engineer, Mr. Anasazi. Can we hope to continue our journey now?”

“Sure, boss, I’m ready,” Harper hurried to his usual station. Tyr left his side and joined his wife who was waiting in the background with Trance, Beka and the Diamond Than – a shimmering vision of iridescent blue-white.

“Very well, then,” Dylan said. “Enter slipstream at your discretion, Starlight!”

“Aye-aye, Captain!” the Ruby Than, who found great delight in such outdated things, saluted smartly and accelerated into the slip portal. A flare of white-blue light filled the main screen, followed by the tangled, knotted strings that gave one the unsettling impression of travelling through the circulatory system of some huge, untamed creature.

Strapped into the pilot’s chair, Glittering Starlight rocked and swivelled with her seat as she guided the huge warship through the dizzying twists and sparks of slipstream. She’d done it uncounted times – she was an experienced pilot, after all – but each slipstream journey was a unique challenge for the navigator. One could never be sure of the outcome.

Especially when following an uncharted route where they couldn’t even guess _where_ they would come out. So the Ruby Than focused very hard, her antennae stiff with concentration, her compound eyes fixed on the screen ahead of her. Only living beings could effectively navigate slipstream, and since actual faster-than-light propulsion was still something in the realm of the purely theoretical, only the slipstream routes made a transit between galaxies possible.

A few gut-wrenching moments later they finished slipstream transit into some sort of planetary system. It looked like a hundred others that they’d seen during their journeys – and yet it was unlike everything they’d ever encountered. It was in a different galaxy, one that had been forbidden to enter during the entire existence of the Commonwealth.

As usual, Trance was the first to voice her excitement. Well, it was more than simple _voicing_ , to tell the truth. She was actually jumping up and down, her tail sweeping the floor.

“Is it not fantastic, people?” she squealed. “We’re in a system – in a whole _galaxy_ – where no Commonwealth citizen has been before!”

“Oh, a few of them have,” Harper commented gravely. “But they all came back as desiccated mummies, right?”

Dylan Hunt rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Mr. Harper, could you try to hold back your extreme superstition? This ‘space vampire’ thing is getting ridiculous!”

Harper shrugged. “Hey, I’m not worrying for myself. I’m on borrowed time already. You know, I might even prefer being sucked dry to the blood-and-gunk feast the kids are gonna celebrate once they’ve grown resistant to the serum. But _you_ , guys, you’re gonna have a serious problem.”

The others exchanged exasperated looks but didn’t answer.

“Wisdom,” Hunt turned to the Sapphire Than, “can you tell me if one of these planets is inhabited?”

The Sapphire Than wiggled with her antennae – a gesture that could mean a great many things by her species. This time, it represented a shrug.

“If Harper can recalibrate the short-range sensors to pick up life-signs… of course, they would pick up animal life as well.”

“Better than nothing,” Hunt decided. “How long would you need for that, Mr. Harper?”

“Oh, I’ll have it done in minutes,” Harper declared, working on the right console already. “The Harper is good.”

The others grinned, having heard that phrase many times already, but Harper paid them no attention. Turning the sensors into a giant life-sign detector wasn’t something that would represent a true challenge for his abilities, but he didn’t want to make any mistakes.

“Well, boss,” he said after twenty minutes or so, “you can give it a try now. We won’t get very good visuals from this distance, but at least we should be able to see if anybody’s home at all.”

“Good work, Mr. Harper,” Hunt looked at the Sapphire Than. “Wisdom, would you do the honours?”

“Certainly, Captain Hunt,” Radiance of Wisdom was already at work, analyzing the incoming data while making the typical cackling sounds of her native tongue. “Hmmm… definitely not a natural structure… but practically no industrial activity… strange by the city of that size… Could we have found a pre-industrial civilization?”

“Or the reminder of some post-apocalyptic horror,” Rev Bem commented with genuine sadness in his scratchy voice.

“I don’t think so,” the Sapphire Than replied. “I don’t read any residual radiation that would be there, even centuries after an all-out war. Neither are there any demolished ships or other sorts of wreck in orbit. The structures on the planet surface – I’d say buildings – seem to be undamaged, although they don’t even come close to the size of the typical skyscrapers of inhabited post-Commonwealth planets.”

“But no primitive huts, either, right?” Hunt asked.

Radiance of Wisdom signalled negation with her antennae. Nobody really knew _how_ she managed to do it, but the gesture was unmistakable.

“No, Captain,” she answered patiently. "Those are definitely larger structures… and solidly built ones. _Huts_ , as you call them, wouldn’t register on our sensors from this distance.”

“Can you read life-signs, too?” Hunt asked.

“Vaguely,” the Sapphire Than said. “Remember, Captain, these sensors weren’t supposed to work as life-sign detectors. But even so, the structured settlement below should have a much denser population than what I’m able to estimate based on even these vague life-signs. As if the inhabitants had abandoned large parts of it. I must emphasize, though, that these readings are not entirely reliable.”

“But if they aren’t completely wrong, then something horrible must have happened to the people who lived there,” Trance said, obviously very upset. “Could it have been some sort of epidemic?”

“That, or they are a dying people and their numbers are diminishing,” Radiance of Wisdom replied. “It’s known to have happened before in our galaxies, too.”

“Or they’ve been attacked and decimated by a superior enemy,” Tyr added cynically.

Beka shook her head. “In that case the structures weren’t intact,” she pointed out.

“They were, if the conquerors wanted the original inhabitants out of the city, so that they could move in afterwards unchallenged,” the Nietzschean said.

“Chemical or biological warfare?” Hunt guessed.

Tyr shrugged. “Another thing known to have happened in our galaxies, too,” he said. “There are always idiots who believe that soil, water and air would easily recover from poisoning… until it is late. If it was an attempt of conquest, it was not a very successful one – or else the city would be full of the conquerors.”

“True enough,” Hunt admitted. “ _If_ we can trust these readings, that is.”

“Hey!” Harper exclaimed, clearly insulted. “They are as correct as anyone could expect from instruments doing what they were never supposed to do!”

“Which is the reason why we need to go down and evaluate the situation for ourselves,” Hunt said. “If there really still are people living in that city – if, in fact, it _is_ a city at all – a meeting with them might be useful.”

“Unlikely,” Tyr shook his head. “If they had any kind of advanced technology, the sensors would have found traces of it.”

“They might not have the technical know-how to help us to find a way out of here,” Hunt admitted, “but they might have food and other resources we need. Or they could tell us where we can find help. We simply can’t let this chance slip through our fingers – we may not find another one for a long time yet.”

“I, too, find a reconnaissance mission necessary,” Tyr said, “but I suggest breathing masks… and lots of weapons.”

“Geez, what a surprise!” Harper commented sarcastically.

Tyr shot him a warning look. “Just necessary precaution, boy. I fully intend to return unharmed.”

“I agree with Tyr,” Hunt declared. “We’ll go down with a small but well-protected and well-armed group.”

“I’m naturally immune against most gifts and germs,” Rev Bem offered. “And I can breathe in atmospheres poisonous for most warm-blooded species.”

“Yeah, but you’d freak out the fellas down there, if they are even vaguely human-like,” Harper protested. “No offence, Rev, we all know you’ve got a heart of butter, but let’s be honest here, you’re not the most trust-inducing sight.”

The Magog inclined his head humbly. “I fear that is very true.”

“I shall go,” Tyr said. “If the inhabitants are humanoid, I am a close enough match; and unless they are giants, I can intimidate them if necessary. Plus, my nanobots can deal with a lot of things human metabolism cannot.”

“But what if they’re _not_ humanoid?” Beka asked.

“I could take the green bugs with me, if Born to Starfire is willing to lend them to me,” Tyr answered. “They’re tough, well-trained and resilient – and still not so frightening to look at as the Magog.”

The Diamond Than signalled her agreement, and the Emerald Than warriors seemed eager enough to go, so Tyr’s plan got the captain’s blessing.

“We still need someone who could make an educated guess about their technical level,” Hunt said then.

“I’ll do that with a simple glance,” Harper declared, excited about the possibility to see new things and to be on an actual planet again; excited enough to forget about the potential presence of space vampires. 

But Tyr shook his head. “Not before we can confirm that the planet is biologically safe, boy. You immune system is too weak for such unnecessary risks. You don’t want your… _residents_ to become active, do you?”

Harper shook his head mutely, his thin face acquiring that pinched expression again. Tyr felt uncharacteristically sorry for him – usually, he didn’t care for the feelings of _kludge_ s – but Harper simply couldn’t take any risks in his current state. He was too important for the _Andromeda_.

“One of the Perseids could come with us,” the Nietzschean proposed. “Maybe the locals will be more inclined to trust cheerful people.” Personally, he could start on a homicidal spree when subjected too much of that cheerfulness, but not everybody had Nietzschean standards.

“Good idea,” Hunt agreed. “Rekeeb, would you like to join them?”

The younger Perseid hesitated for a moment, torn between caution and curiosity, but Höhne promptly agreed to volunteer him, so that he couldn’t back off anymore.

“Good, then it’s settled,” Hunt said. “Arm yourselves, and take the _Maru_. Rommie will go with you. That way you can stay in contact with us all the time.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Tyr wasn’t truly surprised to find Beka already in the pilot’s chair when he entered the _Eureka Maru_ , with one Perseid and three Emerald Than in trail. The captain of the old rustbin might still struggle with the aftermath of her addiction, but she would never let anyone else pilot the _Maru_ , unless it was absolutely necessary. There was one thing that _did_ surprise Tyr, though.

“Dylan let you come with us?” he asked doubtfully.

She gave him a look that would have made a Nietzschean Matriarch proud. “I haven’t asked,” she replied icily.

Not for the first time, Tyr regretted that she was, from a Nietzschean’s point of view, genetically damaged, due to the less than perfect shielding of the _Maru_. She’d have made an excellent junior wife for any Nietzschean Alpha. She had a lot to offer: beauty, strength, courage, and a ruthless survival instinct, not to mention fierce loyalty to those she considered family… not necessarily based on blood. Tyr and Freya _had_ discussed the possibility. But they had to admit that Tyr couldn’t start rebuilding his Pride by wasting his genetic material on a damaged _kludge_ woman. Not even if he highly valued said _kludge_ woman otherwise.

“Let’s go,” he said to distract himself; regret was a wasted emotion, and they had more urgent things to do at the moment.

The others took the various stations, with Rekeeb standing in for Harper and Rommie at the sensor controls, and all reported in ready. Beka switched on the comm.

“ _Andromeda_ , this is the _Eureka Maru_ asking permission to depart,” she said.

“Permission granted,” Dylan Hunt’s voice answered. “Have a good flight – we’ll discuss the circumstances of your joining this mission when you’ve returned.”

Beka laughed and launched the _Maru_. He knew that Hunt would prefer to keep her on the medical deck, under constant surveillance, but that would have killed her within the week. She still did have flashbacks, true, but when it came to flying, her instincts took over – she was still better at the controls than anyone else, with the possible exception of the Ruby Than.

Their short flight was blessedly uneventful, so they looked at the viewscreen curiously as soon as the _Maru_ had entered the lower atmosphere and the short-range sensors were able to provide a more detailed view. The city they were approaching was fairly large, but the buildings seemed rather old-fashioned.

“It looks like Earth in he late nineteenth or early twentieth century,” Rommie, who was in permanent contact with the databases of her ship-self, commented. “Technologically that would mean a rather low level. We can’t hope to get much help from them.”

“Assuming there still is anyone,” the Emerald Than standing next to her at the sensor controls added. “The place seems largely abandoned.”

“Largely – but not entirely, right?” Tyr asked.

“There’s a concentration of life-signs in the northwestern area of the city, near to its centre,” the Emerald Than marked the area on the display with red, “but they are a little… diffuse. I don’t know what the reason for that could be; they should read more clearly from this distance. Perhaps the area is shielded.”

“Any other life-signs?”

“There are small groups scattered all over the city,” the Than studied the screen with her multi-facetted eyes, her antennae twitching nervously, “but this place could take in twice as many as there are… or even more. I suggest to send down an atmospheric probe before we land, to check for airborne viruses and bacteria – and for poisonous substances.”

Tyr found that a sound advice and followed it promptly. But the probe came back with an atmospheric sample that lacked any harmful germs or substances – save the ones produced by a low-tech industry, and even those were practically harmless.

“That’s strange,” Tyr murmured, ordering the Emerald Than to continue with sweeping scans. “I cannot see any serious damage to the buildings, so a battle of name-worthy magnitude is out of question. So, what have these people done, committed mass suicide?”

“That, or Harper’s space vampires have paid them a visit,” Rekeeb giggled. Tyr rolled his eyes.

“Space vampires – or, in fact, any other kind of vampires – do not exist, save from Harper’s overactive imagination,” he said impatiently.

“Are you sure?” one of the Emerald Than asked. “Just because _you_ haven’t seen them so far, it doesn’t mean that they are a mere legend.”

“ _Nobody_ has ever met space vampires,” Tyr said in exasperation.

“The crew of those Commonwealth ships that returned with desiccated mummies aboard perhaps have,” the Than replied dryly.

“In any case, we’ll better be careful,” Beka said quickly, before Tyr and the green bug could have worked themselves up to a _real_ argument. “Midnight, find me a nice, empty area, close to the centre but not in the middle of the locals, so that I can park the _Maru_ in peace.”

Staring at her screen for a moment, the argumentative Emerald Than, whose name happened to be Sword of Midnight, provided the necessary coordinates and called up the detailed analysis from the atmospheric probe. In the meantime, Beka initiated the landing sequence.

“As I said, no poisonous gasses in the atmosphere,” she said, after the _Maru_ had landed and the analysis had been completed. “Some carbon dioxide pollution, probably from the use of fossil fuel, but way below dangerous levels. I can’t find any known viruses or bacteria… or any unknown ones that would be potentially dangerous. Not for Than, that is. I suggest biofilter masks for humanoids, though. There could be germs that are harmless for the locals but lethal for someone with no natural immunity.”

“A sound suggestion,” Tyr agreed and handed one of the transparent masks to Beka, while pressing the other one onto his own face. Rekeeb took a third one without being ordered to do so. There still remained a bit of danger, as it wasn’t entirely impossible to absorb harmful germs or substances through one’s skin, but he was confident that his nanobots would be able to deal with that marginal risk.

“Midnight, you come with us,” he then said. “The two other green bugs stay here and guard the ship, in case the locals turn out hostile and we have to leave quickly. Rommie, have you managed to map our route so far?”

“Of course,” the avatar replied in an insulted tone, surprisingly convincing for an android.

“Good,” Tyr said. “Add Midnight’s readings to the data and plot us a route to the city centre, where the population density is the highest.”

For several seconds, Rommie’s eyes went blank; a sure sign that she was consulting her ship-self.

“Route finished,” she then said.

“Excellent,” Tyr replied. “Take the point. I shall give you cover. Beka, Rekeeb, stay in the middle. Midnight, take the rear. All of you, keep your eyes open. Let us go!”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Deep in the underground bunker of the government complex, a young military aide entered the office of the planet’s only surviving chancellor.

“Sir,” he reported, saluting crisply, “the reports of the observatory have been acknowledged. There _is_ a ship in high geosynchronous orbit above us – a really large one.”

The chancellor - a greying, bearded man with tired eyes, aged beyond his true age - looked up in defeat.

“Wraith?” he asked in a tone that revealed that he was expecting a positive answer. But the young aide shrugged uncertainly.

“Telemetry cannot tell, sir. It’s too large for a cruiser; if it is indeed a hive ship, then it’s nothing that has been beheld before.”

“Has it sent out any smaller units?” the chancellor asked.

“Only one,” the aide replied, handing him a somewhat blurry photograph of a vessel that looked like some clumsily put-together rustbin. “They’ve just landed in the Jalar district a minute ago.”

“It doesn’t _look_ like a Wraith ship,” the chancellor commented, examining the picture with mild curiosity.

“No,” the aide agreed. “Neither do Wraith land when they’re on a culling spree.”

“Has anyone left the ship so far?” the old man asked. The aide shook his head.

“Not according to the latest report, sir. However, they _have_ sent out some sort of probe that took a few sweeps over the district. Perhaps they’re a reconnaissance unit, trying to find out where we are hiding.”

The chancellor stared at the picture doubtfully.

“This doesn’t seem Wraith design to me, Turval,” he said. “And what we’ve been able to see so far doesn’t seem typical Wraith behaviour, either.”

“But no one is capable of space flight _aside_ from the Wraith,” the young aide pointed out reasonably.

“No one that we know of,” the chancellor corrected. “Or perhaps these people came from somewhere else. From a far-away place. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

They both fell silent for quite some time, recalling the unpleasant outcome of what had looked first like a promising alliance with a technically advanced people. An alliance that had fallen victim to the lack of understanding on their allies’ side.

The chancellor didn’t blame them, not really. They had been new to this galaxy. They couldn’t _possibly_ understand the whole depth and extent of the Wraith threat. They would, one day, when they’d spent enough time under that shadow. But by then it would be probably too late for them.

“Couldn’t we call them?” the aide asked. “Just to see if they know anything about the arrival of another space-faring race?”

The chancellor shook his head, slowly, regretfully.

“Their Gate wouldn’t accept us,” he answered. “About that, they were abundantly clear before they left us. They have some kind of shield on their Gate to protect them from unwanted visitors. Our people would never come through. We cannot risk unnecessary deaths. There are few enough of us left as it is.”

“What are we going to do then?” the aide asked.

“Dispatch a militia unit to the Jalar district,” the chancellor ordered. “They should watch if anyone leaves that ship; and if they do, who or what they are. If they are Wraith, have them killed. If not, have them escorted here. Invite them politely. Use force, if necessary. We can’t take any risks.”

“Understood, sir,” the aide saluted again and hurried off to carry out his orders.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Armed with gauss guns (the Than) and with force lances (Tyr, Beka and Rommie), as well as equipped with the breathing masks (again, Tyr and Beka), the _Andromeda_ ’s scout troop left the _Eureka Maru_ to find a way to the place where – presumably – they could find the inhabitants of the planet. Their footsteps seemed too loud, echoing on the broad, stone-paved streets of the city that could have come out of an old Earth history novel. According to Rommie, the buildings matched the architecture of Middle-Europe in the early twentieth century, namely the one widely spread in the Habsburg monarchy.

“I never knew you had such an obscure interest for irrelevant historic details,” Beka teased the avatar. “You’re worse than Harper!”

“I have not,” Rommie answered matter-of-factly. “My previous captain had. He was a Perseid, as you know, and Perseids have always had an avid interest in Earth history. When I was looking for cross-cultural references, this came up from his old personal database.”

“Well, it might prove helpful in dealing with the locals,” Rekeeb commented through the comm cheerfully. Beka suppressed a sudden, violent urge to throttle him. She wasn’t a violent person – not without a good reason anyway – but there was only so much Perseid chipperness any sane being could take.

Which raised serious doubts concerning both Dylan and Harper’s sanity, who actually _liked_ the chinheads.

“That is unlikely,” Tyr said in a clipped tone; he whole-heartedly shared Beka’s feelings towards Perseids. “We are in a different galaxy, three thousand years in the past. Now be quiet and move! I cannot hear a thing through the noise you are making.”

Beka pulled a sour face but even she had to admit that Tyr had been right. If they wanted to use the advantage provided by his acute Nietzschean hearing, they needed to shut up.

So shut up they did and followed Rommie who, for her part, was following a virtual map that only existed in her artificial brain. They walked along abandoned streets; among empty houses that were undamaged, with closed doors and shuttered windows, and sometimes even with old-fashioned curtains on the windows that were _not_ shuttered, but they didn’t find the slightest sign of life. In fact, it seemed as if nobody had ever lived here; as if they were walking through a ghost city, built as part of some gigantic joke – or to serve as some sort of deceit.

They randomly entered the one or other house to find some trail of the former inhabitants but the results were less than satisfying. All they found were pieces of old-fashioned furniture, dishes and even clothes, hanging nicely sorted in the wardrobes. Everything was perfectly ordered, without any damage save the traces of daily wear and tear… and everything was covered with a layer of dust, undisturbed for many days; perhaps for weeks or months.

“This is ridiculous,” Beka exclaimed after the sixth or seventh eerily abandoned house they had thoroughly searched. “They couldn’t have all died, could they?” The thought seemed to disturb her greatly.

“There is another question I find… unsettling,” Tyr said. “If they have all died – where are the corpses, then? So far, we have not found a single one.”

“Why, we’ve buried them, of course,” an unknown voice replied – not in Vedran that they had been using among them but in a language only Harper spoke aboard the _Andromeda_ regularly: English. Tyr, who had a natural affinity for languages, understood it, and Rommie had if filed away in her databases, but Beka, Rekeeb and the Than just looked blankly.

Which raised the question how the locals were able to understand them in the first place; a question they wouldn't be able to answer for a while.

An apparently well-trained unit of six men stepped forth from the shadows of the next houses’ gate, both in front of and behind the scout troop. They wore some kind of uniform: long, heavy coats and a peculiar, flat cap that looked like a plate – _and_ they were armed with projectile weapons that, while looking primitive, could still do a lot of damage to the human flesh. Or to the Than exoskeleton.

One of them – most likely their commanding officer – stepped forth. He was a burly, middle-aged man with a full beard and an impressively twisted moustache, and he had two rows of medals on his broad chest.

“Welcome to Hoff, strangers,” he said in the same, peculiarly accented English as before. “We hope you come in peace. But whatever your intentions may be, Chancellor Druhin wishes to speak with you.

Surprisingly enough, he didn’t demand their weapons. Either he underestimated their firepower (not to mention their skills in hand-to-hand combat), or he tried to be hospitable. In any case, he was offering exactly what they wanted, so Tyr saw no reason not to cooperate – for the time being.

“It will be our pleasure,” he answered in English, strange through it was to use such an outdated language, and signalled the others to follow their hosts.


	5. Chapter 4 - Truths, Nightmares and Superstitions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few lines of Harper's monologue are a rewritten version of what was said in "Exit Strategies" - similar, but slightly different ones.

**Chapter 4 – TRUTHS, NIGHTMARES & SUPERSTITIONS**

As soon as they moved on, another group of armed and uniformed locals closed up behind them, and Tyr’s opinion about the security forces went up a notch. Whoever they were, they weren’t fools. Of course, outnumbering a group consisting of a Nietzschean, a Than, an android and Beka Valentine guaranteed nothing for the opponents, but Tyr wasn’t looking for a conflict yet. They needed to learn all that was to learn, not just about the locals but also about the status quo in the Pegasus galaxy. And if the locals wanted to make peaceful first contact, well, it was a good thing.

Their escort seemed human enough, at least to the naked eye – which didn’t mean a thing, as they all had met their fair share of people who appeared human on the outside but were very different when one looked deeper. That they (or their leader anyway) spoke English surprised Tyr a bit, but he was sure it wasn’t their mother tongue. It would be interesting to find out how they had learned it.

They walked down some more streets, every bit as dead and empty as the previous ones. Then they entered a somewhat pompous building and were led to a side entrance that opened onto a corridor which, for its part, went steadily downwards.

“That explains the diffuse life-sign readings,” Tyr murmured in a voice too low for anyone but Rommie (or another Nietzschean) to hear. “Underground settlement – at least partially.”

The avatar’s only answer was a barely visible nod. It wouldn’t have been wise to make the locals suspicious.

It was a long walk under the surface, but just before Tyr’s paranoia could have kicked into high gear, they came into a large anteroom. A young man, wearing the same ugly and impractical uniform as the patrols, rose from behind his desk.

“I’ve brought the visitors,” the patrol leader reported, still speaking in English for said visitors' sake. “Is the chancellor free at the moment?”

The young aide nodded. “He’s been waiting to greet them since the first reports about their arrival came in. Please wait for a moment, and I’ll announce you at once.”

He knocked on the heavy wooden door of whatever room was adjoining the antechamber. A male voice replied in a tongue unknown even to Rommie; it had to be an invitation because the aide entered and closed the door behind him. A minute or two later he came back already, opening both wings of the door in a slightly theatrical manner and bowed.

“Chancellor Druhin is awaiting you. However, I must insist that you leave your weapons in the anteroom before you enter the Council Chamber.”

Tyr and Beka exchanged a look and shrugged in unison. They wanted the locals in a cooperative mood, and so far there was no sign of any potential danger. Besides, both Tyr and Rommie could have broken any of the soldiers in two with their bare hands, and Than generally had a few dirty tricks in their repertoire as well. So they laid their gauss guns and force lances onto the aide’s desk. Nobody mentioned the knives well hidden in Tyr and Beka’s boots; they were _well_ hidden, after all.

Their cooperation seemed to placate the local military, as they were unceremoniously ushered into the inner room. It was a long and rather dark one, with a low ceiling as one would expect from an underground facility. It had bookshelves lining all four walls – the absence of windows had made it easy to utilize any available surfaces – and a long conference table in the middle, with a lot of empty chairs. Tyr counted nine. Only one chair was occupied by an elderly man.

“Chancellor Druhin,” the aide said with obvious respect in his voice, “our visitors have arrived.

The chancellor stood and came to greet them. He was solidly built, with a broad, deeply lined, bearded face, and was wearing a finely tailored three-piece suit. The golden chain of an old-fashioned pocket watch was threaded through the buttonhole of his waistcoat. Beka got the absurd feeling of playing a part in a historic holonovel.

“It is my pleasure to greet you on Hoff, ladies and gentlemen,” the chancellor said in the same peculiarly accented English. “I apologise for the… insistent manner of our invitation, but we live in times when you cannot be careful enough.”

“Do you always have your visitors escorted here by the military?” Beka asked a bit tartly, after Rommie had translated for her. 

Tyr shot her a warning look, but the chancellor didn’t take offence, although he seemed to understand the question. Either the people in this galaxy learned new languages within minutes, or there was a hidden translator somewhere on his person.

“Only those who come with spaceships,” he replied. “Unfortunately, we have no other choice; the only space-faring species we have met so far were the Wraith, and we have learned to shoot them first and not to bother asking any questions.”

“ _Wraith_?” Tyr looked at Rommie, frowning. The avatar shrugged.

“I’ve never heard of a species called Wraith,” she said.

“If not you, who else would?” Tyr murmured, but he looked at Sword of Midnight nonetheless.

The Emerald Than wiggled her antennae. “Neither have I.”

Both the chancellor and his aide stared at them in surprise.

“You have never heard of the Wraith?” the chancellor asked. “How is that possible? They have been the terror and plague of every planet in this galaxy for longer than memory – or historic data – can reach back.”

“We are… from elsewhere,” Tyr replied evasively. “It was not our intention to come to your galaxy at all. Something went wrong with our navigation system, and we ended up here. But we would like to get home, if we can. We hoped to find a civilization advanced enough to help us with that.”

“Then you have come to the wrong place, I’m afraid,” the chancellor gestured them to sit to the conference table. “We don’t have space flight technology; neither do any of the indigenous races that we know of. The Wraith make great efforts to prevent any of their prey from achieving a level of technology that would enable the people to resist them.”

Tyr raised a hand. “Chancellor… you are going too fast. As I said, we have never heard of those Wraith before. Who – or _what_ – are they?”

“Parasitic aliens that feed on the life energy of human beings,” the chancellor replied bluntly. “They have a… an _organ_ in their palm that they slam into your chest. Through the wound, they release a chemical into the victim’s body to precipitate draining of life energy. During the feeding process, the victim ages visibly, until all remains of him or her is a desiccated corpse.”

It was the _Andromeda_ crew’s turn now to be shocked. No one of them had expected Harper’s gothic tales to be based on reality.

“I will be damned,” Tyr said slowly, still a little reluctant to admit it. “The little professor was right, after all.”

Beka nodded. “I’m afraid we owe him an apology,” she said.

The chancellor looked at them curiously. “Whom are you talking about?” he asked.

“A member of our crew,” Tyr began to explain.

“My engineer,” Rommie corrected, “and a very good one at that.

“Which doesn’t prevent him from being ridiculously superstitious,” Tyr added. “Harper told us old legends about a species like these Wraith,” the Nietzschean refrained from pointing out the differences between the space vampires described by the locals and the imaginary ones from Harper’s tales; it would only have led to confusion. “We did not believe him, at first. He is known to tell hair-raising stories about things that never existed.”

“That is strange,” the chancellor said. “If none of you have ever heard of the Wraith, how could this one man know about them?”

“He comes from a backward planet that has been ravaged by predatory species many times,” Tyr shrugged. “Perhaps in the far, far past, they had contact with these Wraith; who knows?”

“Does it mean that you – even the humans among you – come from different planets?” the chancellor asked. “And yet you work together and serve on the same spaceship?”

“It is common practice where we came from,” Tyr replied.

“Enviable,” the chancellor murmured. “I’d like to know more about you and your people. In exchange, I’ll tell you everything I know about the Wraith, so that you can defend yourselves, in case they show up.”

“How often does that happen?” Beka said, shivering a little. While she wasn’t as superstitious as Harper, her love for gothic novels had made her just a bit more open for such things than the rest of the crew.

“In the past, when the majority of them lay in hibernation, they visited our planet every fifty years. They destroyed whatever level of technology we might have reached since their previous visit and took a great number of our people to feed on them,” the chancellor explained. “In the time in-between, however, we had relative peace. They had a fairly stable pattern in culling their human herds, so we could calculate their next coming with relative ease.”

“And that has changed recently?” Tyr asked. The chancellor sighed.

“Unfortunately, yes. You see, a group of foreign people has shown up not so long ago… a year perhaps, or even less. They meant no harm, but as they killed the Keeper of one Wraith hive, the entire shipload of them awoke from hibernation; and that fact woke the other hives, too, like a chain reaction. There are too many of them now, and they are all hungry. There is no safe place – or time of recovery – any longer.”

“And the ones who woke them – where had _they_ come from?” Tyr asked.

“Their home planet is called Earth,” the chancellor replied. “They say it is in a different galaxy. They got here, but they have no way back, apparently.”

“ _Earth_?” Beka repeated, completely baffled. “There are Earth people in this galaxy?”

“So they’ve told me, and I saw no reason to doubt their words,” the chancellor answered. “Have you had contact with their race before?”

“You can say that,” Beka grinned. “I’ve been born in space, aboard the very ship we came here with, but originally my ancestors had come from Earth.”

“So had mine,” Tyr added. 

The chancellor gave his forearm spikes a doubtful look. “That’s a bit hard to believe, Mr…”

“Anasazi,” the Nietzschean said. He didn’t bother adding his proud bloodline; these people would never understand its significance.

“You don’t exactly look like a human, Mr. Anasazi,” the chancellor said. “No offence intended.”

“None taken,” Tyr didn’t add that mistaking him _for_ a human would have been the actual insult. “I am not human. My ancestors had been… millennia ago, before our race was genetically engineered. We are a separate species now, although we still could cross-breed with humans… theoretically.”

“And practically?”

“We do not. Why mingle our genes with those of an inferior species?”

“Never mind him, Chancellor,” Beka said, seeing the old man’s appalled expression. “His kind also breeds for arrogance – with excellent results, as you can see. I’m Beka Valentine, by the way; captain of the _Eureka Maru_. The grey-skinned gentleman is called Rekeeb; he’s a Perseid. And the green bug is Sword of Midnight. Her species is called the Than-Tre-Kull.”

“Than is enough,” Sword of Midnight said, wiggling her antennae in a friendly manner.

“And I am the ship’s avatar,” Rommie added.

“The physical form of the ship’s artificial intelligence,” Rekeeb supplied helpfully, seeing the chancellor’s blank look.

“You mean she’s a _machine_?” the young aide asked, as the chancellor was still speechless.

Rommie gave him an insulted look. “I’m not just a machine. I’m a _warship_ – one that can be fairly cranky if insulted.”

“Artificial intelligences are considered sentient beings, sir,” Rekeeb, finally in his own, explained. “They are self-aware and capable of independent decisions beyond their programming.”

The chancellor shook his head. “This level of technology is beyond our understanding,” he admitted. “We could learn a great deal from you; the cycle of destruction the Wraith had forced upon us since the dawn of time keeps us from unfolding our full potential. We have to rebuild our society after each culling, and that exhausts whatever resources we might have built up during the previous cycle. We could use those resources so much better, with just a little help.”

“That,” Rommie said before Tyr could have answered, “is not for us to decide. We are just a recon unit. You’ll have to negotiate with my captain, Dylan Hunt. He alone can decide where my potential can and should be used.”

Tyr gave her a dirty look but choose to remain silent – for the time being. He would talk to the avatar about undermining his authority during important negotiations later. In private.

“Would it be possible to arrange a meeting with your Captain, then?” the chancellor asked. “We would be very much interested in a trade of knowledge, to mutual advantage.”

“I can contact the captain through my internal communications module, if you want,” Rommie answered. “It won’t be a very good connection – something in your building material interferes with our comm frequencies – but at least you’d be able to see him.”

The chancellor accepted the offer, and Rommie switched on her small holoprojector that she wore on her wrist. The tiny, three-dimensional image of Dylan Hunt appeared in a column of slightly greenish light.

“Report,” the captain said.

“We’ve made contact, Captain,” Rommie told him. “Chancellor Druhin, who is the highest authority here, has expressed his wish to meet you in person, to discuss an exchange of knowledge.”

“That would be excellent,” Dylan replied. “The chancellor is welcome to visit us aboard – or I can go down to the planet and visit him. Whatever he prefers.”

Rommie looked at the old man askance.

“I’d be interested in a visit,” Druhin said, “as I have never been on a spaceship before. But that has to wait. I’m needed here, now that the Wraith may show up any time.”

“The _what_?” Dylan asked, clearly baffled.

“I’ll explain everything, Captain,” Rommie promised. 

The captain nodded. “Very well, then. I’ll go down. Beka, please come back with the _Maru_ for me. And bring the Than back with you. Dylan out.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
While they were waiting for the arrival of Captain Hunt, the chancellor called in a few of his trusted co-workers to give the visitors, if not exactly the grand tour, at least the safe version of it. Realizing that Rekeeb was an engineer, he offered the Perseid a visit to their power plants, where they were trying to utilize the planet’s abundance of geothermic energy.

“Reliable power generation is the main goal of our work here,” one of the Hoffan engineers – there seemed to be very few of them for a project of this magnitude – explained to Rekeeb. “If we found a safe way to utilize the intense heat trapped beneath the planet surface, it would speed up our technological development a great deal.”

“Hmmm,” the Perseid examined the equipment carefully. “I don’t want to insult you, but it would be a difficult process with _these_ machines. However, if Captain Hunt grants me access to the _Andromeda_ ’s technical database, I might come up with something more… efficient.”

The elderly engineer looked at him in awe. “You would do that?”

Rekeeb shrugged. “Why not? We Perseids are interested in solving technical problems – and we love to guide younger cultures. We’ve done so with humans for millennia at home. It will be a challenge to work on this – forgive me – low level of technology, but we love a good challenge, too.”

In the meantime, in another part of the government complex, Tyr and Beka were shown to a cavernous underground chamber with rows upon endless rows of books: old ones and newer ones, but all in good shape, and all apparently looked after with great care.

“Impressive,” Tyr commented. Unlike most people of his time, he valued real books, even though he realized the practical advantage of computerized databases. Kodiak Pride had always been a bit old-fashioned and tradition-bound. “This must be the accumulated knowledge of several generations.”

“That of many hundred years, actually,” the chancellor replied. “This is how we’ve tried to beat the Wraith. They always try to prevent any race from advancing too far – if necessary, by destroying the infrastructure and massacring the people beyond the culling process. We have been forced to rebuild our society many times – and, sadly, never to our full potential. But at the very least we don’t need to begin from square one every time. This,” he gestured towards the precious books, “enables us to build upon that which has already been accomplished. To… stand on the shoulders of our forefathers, to say so.”

“It would be a disaster, then, should those Wraith destroy your library, right?” Beka asked.

“It would be a terrible loss, but it wouldn’t beat us,” the chancellor answered. “A number of other archives, identical to this one, are hidden throughout our city. Only a few trusted officials know about their existence and location.”

“How many times have you started over already?” Tyr asked, impressed by the iron will of these people to survive against overwhelming odds. If he wanted to find allies in the Pegasus galaxy, he could hardly find more fitting ones than the Hoffans.

“More than we would care to count,” the chancellor replied. “But only in the recent one hundred and fifty years have we had any real hope to end the cycle of destruction.”

“You have?” Tyr’s respect for the Hoffans went up another notch.

The chancellor nodded. “And we have succeeded in finding a way that worked… at least partially. Alas, the price was… high.”

Tyr shot him an inquiring look, but the old man shook his head.

“I’ll tell you about it when your captain arrives. Even though we still stand to our decision, it’s not something we really _like_ to discuss. But you need to know the truth, should we be able to be of any use for each other.”

Personally, Tyr didn’t share the chancellor’s opinion. Nietzscheans, as a rule, considered deceit – even the deceiving of their allies – a perfectly legitimate weapon in the never-ending fight for survival and dominance. But he knew that in this foreign galaxy he’d have to at least respect the customs of the locals; perhaps even adapt to them to a certain degree.

Survival was the ultimate goal. To achieve that, any means were allowed. Even respecting other people’s peculiar ideas of honour.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Less than an hour later, Dylan Hunt, Tyr Anasazi, Technical Director Höhne and Born to Starfire were sitting with Chancellor Druhin in the mostly abandoned Council chamber. Dylan had decided to bring the older Perseid and the Diamond Than, too, since they were the highest-ranking representatives of their respective races. Besides, Born to Starfire was an important force to count with, and she’d not suffer to be left out.

They listened grimly while Chancellor Druhin gave them the brief summary on Hoff’s troubled history and on the nature of the Wraith threat in general. It seemed every bit as bad to them as the Magog threat in their own galaxies. At least the Wraith didn’t reproduce in the bodies of their victims. Too bad that their numbers were depressingly high already, and that their advanced technology could beat practically everything the Pegasus galaxy could offer. They also did their best to keep the status quo in puncto technical development unchanged.

“Long ago, this city was only one of our numerous settlements,” the chancellor explained. “It was the largest and strongest one, sure – a testament to the imagination and the creative spirit of our ancestors – but only one of the many. We wanted it to become again what it once used to be. To utilise its endless possibilities.”

“But it was unlikely to happen, if the Wraith steamrolled everything in every fifty years,” Dylan nodded in understanding.

“Correct,” the chancellor said. “We knew we could never get the upper hand in weapons technology. They never left us enough time for that kind of development. So our ancestors have chosen a different way: to make ourselves useless for the Wraith.”

Dylan gave him a blank stare. “Useless… How did you plan to accomplish that?”

“By creating a drug designed to interfere with the Wraith feeding process,” the chancellor replied calmly.

“That’s incredible!” Höhne exclaimed; then his enthusiasm died down a little, and he added. “Would that even be possible?”

The chancellor nodded. “Theoretically, yes, it is. One of our most celebrated medical researchers had discovered a unique protein that enables a human being to resist the Wraith chemical necessary to the feeding process.”

“He _discovered_ it?” Tyr repeated. “Where?”

“In the blood of a man who’d survived a Wraith attack,” the chancellor explained. “He even managed to make a copy of that protein and developed the prototype of the drug, but was killed before it could have been tested and used.”

“And you had to begin everything from square one again,” Tyr finished. 

The old man shook his head. “Not completely, no. Ferrel Mylan’s journals and research materials survived the culling, so that the new generation of scientists could continue his work.”

“Did you ever manage to finish it?” Hunt asked.

“Not for a long time, even though we concentrated all our efforts on this single project. Our scientists are good but not _that_ good. Fortunately, a few months ago we finally got help from the outside. People from another world, with knowledge far greater than ours, visited us, and helped us to finish the drug.”

“You don’t seem particularly happy about this fact,” the Diamond Than remarked. “Why is that? Wasn’t this the ultimate goal of your people?”

“Of course it was,” the chancellor replied. “And we would do the same thing again, even if we knew in advance what would happen.”

“Something went wrong,” Tyr realized. 

Chancellor Druhin nodded. “The drug worked. We tried it on a volunteer – a terminally ill young man who’d have died anyway – and the Wraith our… allies held captive was unable to feed on him. In fact, the attempt killed the creature within minutes… and under great pain.”

“Well, that is a good thing – is it not?” Tyr asked callously.

“The drug also killed the test person a day later,” the chancellor added.

“He was terminally ill, as you’ve told us yourself,” the Diamond Than pointed out. “Perhaps the stress proved too much for him.”

“That was what we thought, too,” the chancellor nodded. “Which was the reason why we started to inoculate our people immediately.”

“But it was not the stress and his original illness that killed your test person, was it?” Tyr asked quietly. “It was the drug, right? And your people began to die.”

“Sadly, it was so,” the chancellor admitted. “The drug had a casualty rate of fifty-two per cent. Our allies demanded from us to stop the inoculations at once.”

“You mean you have _not_?” Dylan asked, completely bewildered.

“It was not my decision,” the chancellor replied. “Not even that of the Council. We have asked our people, every single one of them. Ninety-six per cent voted in favour and begged to be inoculated.”

“And half of them died,” Dylan said accusingly.

“Yes, but the other half is now immune,” the chancellor answered. “And it is hereditary. We already have children who’ve been born with the natural immunity. After hundreds of years, we’ve finally managed to fulfil the destiny and the promise of our forefathers.”

“And now you’re building your shiny new life on the bones of your own people,” Dylan shook his head in dismay. “Small wonder that your allies left you.”

“They are new to this galaxy,” Druhin said dismissively, “just as you are. They’ve come from a place so far away they’ll probably never be able to get back. They don’t understand the necessity to survive at all costs.” He noticed Tyr’s sudden interest and gave the Nietzschean a tired smile. “I see that _you_ , at least, understand.”

“I do,” Tyr answered calmly. “You have to do what you have to do, and sometimes you just cannot allow morale to stand in necessity’s way. Your people chose freely, I presume?”

The chancellor nodded. “They did. A small minority refused to be inoculated... those live in small groups on the outskirts of our city. We’ve offered them to move in closer, but they refused. We didn’t force them; just as we hadn’t forced the inoculation upon them.”

“Then you have done the only possible thing,” Tyr concluded.

“I know,” the chancellor said, “and one day our former allies will understand that, too. When they, too, will be forced to do terrible things in order to survive… not only as individuals but as a species.”

“These former allies of yours,” Dylan said,” Beka told me that they were from Earth?”

“So they called their home planet, yes,” the chancellor replied. “Like the soil under their feet. A… proper name. It is in another galaxy, apparently.”

Dylan frowned. Earth people had not managed to cross the huge void between galaxies three thousand years earlier. In fact, they hadn’t even managed to master interstellar fight. How had these humans managed to leave their home galaxy and get to this one? It seemed impossible.

“How did they get here?” he asked.

For a moment, the chancellor seemed to hesitate.

“They have the means of space travel, at least for short distances,” he finally said, but both humans and aliens from the post-Commonwealth era were certain that he was holding something back.

“Well,” Dylan said, “I’d like to meet those people. If they’re a space-faring race, they might be able to help us with star charts of this galaxy, at the very least. Unless _you_ are able to lend us a few.”

“I’ve no knowledge of such things,” the chancellor said, and now he seemed completely honest again. “We do have a few sky maps that depict the constellations as they are seen from our planet’s surface, but I’m afraid that won’t help you much.”

“In that case, we need to contact your former allies,” Dylan declared. Could you help us to find them somehow?”

“Theoretically, I could,” the chancellor said carefully. “But I’m afraid that won’t be much help, either. They refuse any further contacts between our two words, and we can’t go after them. We don’t have the means.”

For some reason, that didn’t sound completely honest, once again. But Hunt knew they wouldn’t learn more from the old man, no matter what. He looked at Born to Starfire, and the Diamond Than signalled her agreement with her antennae. They’d have to find another way to trace down those other humans.

“If they are only capable of short-range flights, all we have to do is to search the nearby systems for humanoid life and gradually widen the circle,” Tyr suggested, as if he’d read their thoughts.

“Oh,” the chancellor seemed very disappointed. “I hoped you’d stay with us for a while. Now that our resources are no longer used up for medical research, we could finally turn to other aspects of life; aspects that had to be sorely neglected in the recent centuries. We could learn so much from you!”

There was a short, tensely quiet pause in the Council chamber. Tyr was sure that Dylan had already written off the Hoffans as potentially useful allies and all the good captain wanted was to go on and find someone more… convenient. Someone who could help them, instead of _expecting_ help. It wasn’t something Tyr would principally disagree with. But unlike Dylan, he felt that the Hoffans as well as their world had great potential. Something that could – and _should_ – be nurtured and built out as a home base, in case they wouldn’t find a way back to their own time.

The same felt, apparently, Höhne as well, because he raised his hand.

“Captain Hunt, I find the request of our hosts a reasonable one,” he said. “I’d suggest a compromise. You can go and find your fellow humans, and – hopefully – with their help a way back to our own area of space.” He wisely refrained from mentioning the three-thousand-year difference and the possibility of a parallel universe. “Rekeeb and I can stay here and help these people update their technology. Rekeeb has already made himself useful, but if we organize and coordinate our efforts, the work of decades can be done in mere weeks.”

“You seriously expect me to leave you here, unprotected, in case of a Wraith attack? “Dylan shook his head. “I don’t think so, Höhne. You’re not just anybody; you are one of the leaders of your homeworld.”

“First and foremost, I’m a Perseid, and as you know all too well, Perseids are quite different from humans when it comes to biology,” Höhne replied. “It’s by no means sure that the Wraith would be able to feed on me at all. Secondly, we are not part of your crew, Captain. We are… well, _were_ … civilian observers aboard and can leave any time we want. And we want to help.”

“You Perseids really love to baby-sit younger races, don’t you?” Dylan asked sourly. 

Höhne giggled; the high-pitched noise was ridiculously mismatched with his grave, grey face and long, ridged chin. “Guilty as charged, Captain Hunt, guilty as charged!”

“What if we do find a way home?” Dylan asked.

“In that case we’d be all too happy to rejoin you, of course,” Höhne said. “We _do_ want to go home, too. But in the meantime, I feel that we’d be of more use here.”

He seemed determined to do so, and Dylan knew all too well how stubborn Perseids could be, despite their cheerful manners. Besides, Höhne was right. He was the high-ranking representative of his own planet and by no means under Dylan’s command. He could do as he pleased, and – considering that Sintii IV was one of the very few existing members of the New Commonwealth, he could even demand _Dylan’s_ cooperation, not the other way round.

“All right,” the captain said, clearly unhappy with the situation but giving in anyway. “It’s your choice.”

“We’ll need access to _Andromeda_ ’s technical database,” Höhne added, his mind already on the tasks in front of him, “as our level of technology wouldn’t be compatible with that of the Hoffans. We need to look for common things in the history files. And we could use Harper’s help. He has a unique talent to make things work where everyone would say it’s impossible.”

“I can’t leave Harper behind,” Dylan protested. “He’s needed aboard the _Andromeda_.”

“Not while all you’re doing is to scan for humanoid life, he’s not,” Höhne riposted. “You can take him aboard again when you’re leaving for the planet of your fellow Earthlings. In the meantime, being on a planet and breathing real air would do him a great deal of good.”

“But his medical condition…” Dylan began.

“Won’t change a bit by being on a planet,” Tyr interrupted. “He can take his medication down here as well as aboard the ship. And with Chancellor Druhin’s permission, I shall stay with him to keep an eye on his condition. Freya would welcome the chance to visit a real world for a short while. My wife,” he added for Druhin.

The chancellor nodded. “Certainly, Mr. Anasazi, you and your wife are welcome. Sadly, we have more room than we need… and our doctors are really good, in case Mr. Harper needs treatment.”

“I am afraid his condition is terminal,” Tyr said bluntly. “He has only few months left to live. Spending some of that time on a planet, tinkering with machines, would make him happy, though. And his skills would be useful.”

Dylan Hunt wasn’t happy to have half his crew transferred to the planet, not even temporarily. Whatever he might think of Tyr personally, the Nietzschean was a real asset to the crew and needed at the fire controls. And Harper was vital for the smooth running of the ship. But Tyr had, with the involuntary help of the Perseids, set him up so that he couldn’t reject the idea. Not without losing the chance to make friends with the Hoffans; and at the moment, they _needed_ friends. The technical advantages provided by the _Andromeda_ weren’t enough to fight the technically just as advanced Wraith on their own.

“All right,” he said with a sigh,” but take a slipfighter, so that you can return to the ship in record time, if needed.”

Knowing that he’d won this particular battle in their quiet, ongoing war for dominance, Tyr nodded reasonably. This solution allowed him to spend some time with his wife without being spied upon by the ever-present AI of the ship, to keep an eye on Harper as promised, and to have a private discussion or two with Chancellor Druhin and his closest co-workers. Tyr had wanted to do that since their arrival. He was certain that the Hoffans hadn’t told them everything there was to know, and he had the feeling that without Dylan’s moralizing presence, the chancellor might become a little more open.

So far, things had developed according his plans. He liked when things did that.


	6. Chapter 5 - Skeletons in Cupboards

**CHAPTER 05 – SKELETONS IN CUPBOARDS**

Right after having dropped the bombshell, Tyr began to seriously doubt that it had been such a wise decision to invite Harper to his own quarters to tell him what they had found down on the planet – and what they would have to face in the near future, unless they found a slipstream route out of the Pegasus galaxy. 

Preferably yesterday.

“You have found _what_?” the little _kludge_ demanded in a voice several levels higher than usual. Actually, it was almost a shriek. “No,” he added hurriedly when the Nietzschean opened his mouth to answer, “no, don’t answer that. I heard it the first time.”

“Then why did you bother to ask?” Tyr aimed a superior eyebrow at the human.

“Because I wasn’t willing to believe it just yet, okay?” Harper’s voice was still too shrill for Tyr’s comfort. Nietzscheans had extremely sensitive ears – the flip side of their acute hearing.

“I always knew the Universe hated me.” The engineer was working himself up to full rant mode. “I just never knew it hated me _this_ much. As if being infested with Magog larvae weren’t bad enough; nah, we had to land in a galaxy full of space vampires! Big, ugly, immortal space vampires. One death sentence wasn’t enough for fate; nah, the Harper might somehow survive that, despite the fact that nobody has moved a finger to help him find a cure for his little Magog problem. So the Universe threw in a second death sentence, just for good measure.”

“Harper,” Tyr interrupted sternly, “calm down!”

“No, I won’t calm down! I don’t _want_ to calm down. I choose _never_ to calm down for the rest of my life… short as it might be. And I’d like you to know that…” 

Unexpectedly, his eyes rolled upwards and he slumped into the armchair behind him like a rag doll.

“He _needed_ to calm down,” Freya explained matter-of-factly, putting away the small, automatic injector. 

Tyr stared at his wife with naked admiration. “Lady mine, you are amazingly sneaky,” he declared.

“We need him,” Freya replied with an elegant shrug. “If he gets over-excited, the larvae will awake… and that is _not_ something we want to see.”

“It can still happen later,” Tyr said in concern. “This crisis is by no means over. I had better take him to the medical deck.”

“You had better,” Freya nodded. “I shall follow you shortly; keep an eye on him until then. I do not trust that purple creature around him – around _any_ of us.”

“You mean Trance?” Tyr asked in surprise. “Granted, she is strange at times, but she is basically harmless.”

“If that is what you think, husband mine, then you are blind,” Freya replied grimly. “She may be many things, but I am sure none of them is harmless. You males tend to buy that innocent act, for it triggers your protective instincts. But I tell you, Tyr Anasazi, the creature is neither innocent nor harmless. I even doubt that it could be considered female at all, despite its outer form.”

“You think this might not be her true form?” Tyr asked thoughtfully. Shape-shifting races were extremely rare – he hadn’t met one yet, in spite of his frequent travels across three galaxies – but their existence was a well-documented fact.

“Or not its _only_ form,” Freya replied. “I cannot tell. The only thing I can tell for certain is that if follows its own agenda – one that might not match the lofty ideals of Captain Hunt; and that most likely would not match _our_ goals. It is not trustworthy, and it is ruthless. More ruthless than our entire people counted together. The fact that it still has not healed Harper – that it, in fact, has never made the slightest effort to do so – proves its true nature.”

“Which would be…?” Tyr scooped up Harper’s pliant body.

“Whatever it is, we are of little importance for it,” Freya said slowly. “Pawns on a chess board, nothing else. Be careful around it, Tyr. Be _very_ careful.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Awakening on the medical deck approximately half an hour later, realization sank again, and Harper freaked out completely.

 _Well, saying that he freaked out was probably an understatement_ , Tyr thought, watching as Harper went through the various phases of shock, hysterics, uncontrollable shaking, catatonic periods, manic rants – and ended up bent over in gut-slicing pain as the larvae became half-awake from the strong reaction of his nerves to the news that had shaken up the balance of his entire system. Trance had to give him a double dose of the serum to put the little monsters within him to sleep again, which caused vicious cramps in his extremities, making him scream in intense pain again. It was a known side effect of the serum, especially in people with weak immune systems – like Harper.

Like many Nietzschean women, Freya had learned the art of healing massage – Niet males often needed the help of their wives after a particularly heavy training session or a fight – and offered her help, spending more than two hours working on the knotted muscles in the little engineer’s arms and legs. The fact that Nietzscheans had a higher metabolism, and thus their touch always felt pleasantly warm to mere humans, proved helpful, though Harper had first had another small freak-out by the thought to give himself into Nietzschean hands. Even if said hands belonged to someone whom he considered ‘a babe’ – a category with surprisingly wide boundaries in his vocabulary.

Freya had learned her lessons with Nietzschean efficiency, and while the treatment wasn’t always pleasant, she managed to soothe the pain in the tormented muscles, so that Harper eventually fell into exhausted sleep. Without the almost manic energy reflecting upon his mobile face, he actually looked his age – and more. The fine lines carved into the corners of his eyes and around his mouth clearly revealed that he’d suffered a lot in his short life.

This episode postponed their return to Hoff by several hours, but Tyr didn’t really mind it. The delay allowed him to confront Rommie about the events during their first contact – not that it would have led to anything, given the avatar’s blind loyalty towards her captain, but it was about principle and about his authority being challenged in front of strangers – and for Freya to pack her bags. Even a Nietzschean woman needed a few conveniences during her pregnancy.

It was almost six hours later when a pale and drained but still skittish Harper knocked on Tyr’s door, armed with a backpack, an overstuffed tool belt, a gauss gun, and a force lance.

“Let’s go,” he said morosely, “before I change my mind.”

“Are you in any shape to fly the _Maru_ , little man?” Tyr asked. “Freya and I shall go by slipfighter, and I doubt that Beka would trust either Perseid with her ship.”

“She wouldn’t trust _me_ with her ship, either,” Harper replied, obviously insulted by that fact. “She’ll drop us onto the planet herself, and then leave us there. Can we go now?”

“After you,” Tyr said with exaggerated courtesy and shepherded him out of his quarters.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Despite his foul mood, Harper couldn’t deny that he was looking forward to be on a real, honest planet again. He watched the landscape under them with some interest – it seemed nice enough. According to the scans the atmosphere was almost unpolluted, geothermic energy being a fairly clean thing; in any case, it was still a lot better than many planets he had visited in his life… and it was a thousand per cent better than Earth had been. He could barely wait to feel the light breeze and true sunshine upon his face.

Beka put down the _Maru_ on the same spot where they had first landed on the planet. Following the Perseids who were chatting excitedly – had been during the whole flight, in fact – Harper stepped out and squinted up to the sky. It was actually blue, save for a few white clouds floating high above their heads. It was… nice, and the warmth of the sun on his face better than he’d imagined it would be. Perhaps because he hadn’t expected to feel it ever again.

From the open hatch of the _Maru_ , Beka looked after him and shook her head. She still couldn’t understand why people would _want_ to live on planets when they could have perfectly nice, regulated environments on ships or drifts. Planets were dirty, full of germs; the weather was a factor that couldn’t be controlled, ground transportation a nuisance. But Höhne had been right. Little mudfoots like Harper loved that sort of environment. She only hoped Harper would enjoy his stay on the planet. God knew the poor guy didn’t have much to look forward to.

She sighed and returned to the bridge to make a quick pre-flight check. She couldn’t wait to leave this mudball behind her. To be back to the _Andromeda_ , the clean quarters, the controlled environment. She was a spacer – meant to fly, not to play in muddy sandboxes.

Shortly after that, Tyr landed the slipfighter, and he and Freya climbed out of it. The natural surroundings proved advantageous for Freya; the sunlight turned her long braid of blonde hair to pure gold and made her eyes glimmer in a crystalline blue. Despite her pregnancy, she still had the shape of an athlete, her ivory bone blades folded against her silver bracers like the wings of a resting bird. Beautiful and deadly, she looked like an Amazon queen from some ancient tale.

Harper only hoped Tyr knew what a lucky bastard he was. To be married to a babe who wasn’t just extremely hot and fought like a fury but also gave the most amazing massage was more than any _Über_ deserved. In Harper’s opinion anyway, not that many would care to ask it.

Said lucky bastard was now ushering the Perseids away from the _Maru_ , manoeuvring them into safe distance, so that Beka could lift off with her ship without endangering anyone. As soon as the _Maru_ left, the two Niets, the two chinheads, and Harper aimed for the Hoffan city. Tyr chose the same way as the first time, for the simple reason that he knew no other one, even though he seemed decidedly uncomfortable with it. A fact didn’t add much to Harper’s comfort with the place to begin with.

“This place is spooky,” the engineer stated nervously, after the first couple of eerily empty streets. Even his voice died down echoless between the mute buildings. “A haunted city, eh?”

“Nothing so exciting,” Tyr replied absent-mindedly; all his senses were on high alert. “This is one of the areas that the survivors have abandoned.”

“Not all of them,” Freya commented quietly; her bone-blades fluttered lightly. “We are being watched.”

“The militia again?” Rekeeb asked. Tyr shook his head.

“No; they would show themselves openly. We are expected. They have no reason to hide from us anymore.”

“Who then?” The young Perseid became highly agitated at once.

“I do not know,” Tyr said, “but we must expect a sneak attack in any moment. We should try to reach a wider area. If we got cornered in one of these streets, that would be the ultimate rat trap.”

“I really appreciate your efforts to cheer us up, Tyr,” Harper scowled, grabbing the force lance with one hand and the gauss gun with the other one. “Where the hell are they?”

“Behind us and a little to the left, “Freya replied in Tyr’s stead. “I can smell sweat from that direction.”

 _Typical_ , Harper thought sourly. _That’s Übers for you. Noses like those of goddamn bloodhounds_. But in truth, he was thankful for heightened Nietzschean senses. Without them, they’d be dead meat. And Harper didn’t want to die, not yet. Not before his “passengers” made it inevitable, and certainly not by the hand of some local madmen.

Well, save for moments of extreme despair and depression, of course. But he wasn’t the kind of guy to submit to those all too often. Not as long as he could count on a quick and merciful death by Tyr’s hand. Which was kind of a weird perspective, but one had to play with the cards the Universe dealt one; there weren’t any other cards.

They had moved on swiftly in the meantime. Tyr’s imminent goal was to get as close to the pompous government building as possible, because the closer they got, the greater was the chance that a militia unit would come tot heir aid. But he could hear the footsteps closing up behind them, just out of sight.

“We cannot reach our goal in time,” he told the others.

“How many?” Harper asked through gritted teeth.

“Ten, at the very least,” Freya said. “Possibly more. “We are outnumbered.”

“But hopefully not outgunned,” Tyr added. “As far as I could see, the Hoffans use primitive projectile weapons.”

“Hey!” Harper snapped. “Those can cause a _lot_ of ugly damage. Even to Niets!” He was speaking out of first-hand experience. The weapons _he’d_ cobbled together back on Earth had been primitive, too, but more than capable to tear the Drago-Kazov jerk-offs to bloody little pieces.

“Not if we shoot first,” Tyr replied with a wolfish smirk.

“Mr. Anasazi, you can’t simply shoot unknown people together, just because you _assume_ they have foul intentions,” Höhne protested.

“Watch me,” Tyr replied darkly, “and stay out of the firing line. I would hate to shoot you by accident.”

That silenced the Perseid for a while, and Tyr could organize their defence perimeter. A few small explosives about ten meters from their positions – it always paid off having an engineer on one’s team –, Harper on his right, Freya on his left, frightened Perseids shielded by them from the front and by a house wall from behind. It wasn’t perfect, but it was adequate. Plus, they could always flee into the house behind them if luck turned against them.

The attackers burst free from one of the side streets. At first sight Harper though there might be about fifteen of them, which meant that Freya’s previous estimate had been more or less correct. Not a bad guess, based on hearing and smell only, but _Über_ s were good at that sort of thing. The men coming up against them didn’t seem to be some sort of hungry mob that lived on the outskirts of society on the crumbles left over by more fortunate ones. Harper had been familiar with _that_ , practically from his birth on. _These_ guys were well-fed and wore good clothes. Of course, with half the planet’s population dead, pillaging the abandoned houses probably wasn’t a problem. The militia had to concentrate its efforts to guard the important places: the energy producing plants, the labs, the government building.

Harper was at a loss why these Hoffans wanted to attack them in the first place. Even if they were a rebel fraction, what could they possibly have against the _Andromeda_ crew? But as soon as he looked into the burning eyes of their pack leader, he understood at once. These people were fanatics. Whether religious or political fanatics, it remained to be found out later, but one thing was sure: there would be no reasoning with them.

On the other hand, fanatics tended to take orders from charismatic personalities without second-guessing them. If only Tyr could work himself up to show some true _Über_ charm...

“Be an Alpha,” he hissed to the Nietzschean in Vedran. “These are a bunch of Betas, or worse, even by the measure of their own people. Show strength!”

A simple nod signalled Tyr’s understanding. The Nietzschean extended his force lance and adopted a demonstrative pose that would have made even other Nietzscheans back off. Most of them anyway.

“Who are you?” he demanded in a harsh voice, using English in the hope that Hoffans would generally understand it. “Why are you following us?”

“You are on your way to the blasphemers to help them,” their leader, a young man in his mid-thirties, replied in a surprisingly… _civil_ manner. “We can’t allow that.”

His voice was reasonable, too. Almost like the voice of one who would be ready to negotiate the problem in question… if only there weren’t that manic gleam in his eyes.

“I cannot remember having asked your permission,” Tyr snarled. His bone blades snapped fully erect, in a decidedly threatening manner. As much as Harper hated to admit, he was a magnificent sight in full Alpha mode.

To the rebel leader’s (or whatever he was) credit, he didn’t back of one step.

“I’m afraid I must insist,” he said amiably, madness burning hotter in his eyes than a thousand suns. His followers showed the same single-minded determination… just without the charisma or the personality.

“And _I am_ afraid I do not care,” Tyr replied. “Get off my neck, little man, or bear the consequences.”

“You really think you can turn us back?” the leader laughed; it sounded more hysterical than actually amused. “And you have on your side what? Two abominations, a boy and a _woman_?”

 _Terrific_ , Harper thought. _Not only xenophobes, but misogynist idiots as well. That will be just the day I needed_. According to Freya’s frown, she wasn’t amused, either. Tyr shot her a wry grin.

“You have just insulted my wife,” he told the rebel leader. “That was a mistake.”

“No," the leader riposted, raising an old-fashioned projectile weapon that looked like a flintlock from old historic movies. “You coming here in the first place was a mistake. We don’t want here abominations to support the blasphemers who mislead our people and killed half of them with their alien virus.”

“So you’d prefer to be sucked dry by the Wraith?” Harper asked cynically. “Are you guys completely nuts or what?”

“The Wraith are evil,” the leader replied coldly, “but they are part of nature. Turning ourselves into something we’re _not_ is _against_ nature. And nature has punished us by the death of half our population. No Wraith culling could have been near that bad.”

Which, again, was such a reasonable statement that it silenced the _Andromeda_ crew for a moment. Long enough for the leader to turn to his followers.

“Don’t be afraid, true sons of Hoff! Kill the abominations, purge our planet of their blasphemy, and nature will reinstate you into your birthright after our great victory!”

“Idiots!” Tyr hated fanatics with a passion. “Harper, are you ready?”

“Sure,” Harper narrowed his eyes, waiting for the pack to reach the defence perimeter where the explosives had been laid. “At your mark.”

“Now!” Tyr hissed, and Harper pushed the button on the remote.

A dozen explosives went off with a spectacular bang – unfortunately, the audio effect was bigger than the explosions themselves – leaving two dead and several heavily bleeding attackers on the ground, exploding black powder from their primitive weapons having added a bit to the effect. The others moved on in a determined manner that also revealed that they must have trained this manoeuvre before.

“You know, fellas, you really have the talent to make an already lousy day even lousier,” Harper declared, shooting the closest one straight in the chest. “And I was really, _really_ having a bad day to begin with.” Another Hoffan fell, crippled by a nasty leg wound. “You see,” Harper continued, while he kept shooting at them with surprising efficiency, “I’m infested with ugly little parasites that are eating me alive, from the inside out. So,” he shot another one in the upper arm, “do you truly believe that you can make me nervous with your kitchen knives and prehistoric guns?”

Tyr and Freya hadn’t been idle either, and soon the number of the attackers was limited to eight. Now they were too close for guns, or else Harper’s party could have accidentally shot each other. But the force lance was still an option. Harper dropped the gauss gun into Höhne’s reluctant hands, instructing the Perseid to keep out of his way, and grabbed the lance with both hands.

Before the remaining attackers could reach them, Freya whirled forward and grabbed the front of the leader’s shirt.

“You have insulted me, vermin,” she said icily. “I do _not_ take such things nicely.” She tossed the man backward and slashed his entire front with her bone blades in a quicksilver move. “That was a warning,” she added in the same cool manner. “If I were you, I would back off. _Now_.”

But it was obvious that the attackers were _not_ going to back off. Instead, they tried to tighten the circle around the strangers, realizing that they still outnumbered their prey almost three to one, as the Perseids apparently didn’t count when it came to fighting. They couldn’t know that those odds weren’t particularly promising when one had to face Nietzscheans in hand to hand combat, of course. Still, the thought that their best chance to survive was to massacre these idiots depressed Harper. He had so hoped that he’d left this particular sport – humans killing humans – behind him on the day they’d gotten lost in the Pegasus galaxy.

He’d been unreasonably optimistic, it seemed.

“I _hate_ this,” he said bitterly, collapsing his force lance and preparing himself to ram the blunt end into the face of the closest man approaching.

Before he could place the blow, though, demanding voices sounded from all around them, speaking in the Hoffan language, and two units of the Hoffan militia marched up from two different directions. Within minutes, the eight remaining attackers were disarmed, handcuffed and led away – none of which happened too gently.

The bearded commanding officer – the same one as last time, Tyr realized – turned to them. He seemed decidedly uncomfortable, for some reason.

“We apologize for our tardiness, Tyr Anasazi,” he said in his heavily accented English. “We have been… delayed by another _incident_. Your arrival has shaken up tempers a little. We thank you for your assistance by dealing with the rogues. I’ll take you to Chancellor Druhin now. He’s awaiting you.”

“We are also waiting to see him again,” Tyr said grimly. “I fear he has a lot to explain. It seems to me as if he had forgotten to tell us about a few… _problematic_ aspects of Hoffan life.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
“You’re right, of course,” Chancellor Druhin said with a heavy sigh. “We should have been honest with you from the first day on. It’s just… we were afraid that you’d refuse to help us, had you known the whole truth.”

“Our esteemed captain perhaps would,” Tyr said in agreement. “However, _we_ are somewhat more… realistic. So, do tell us your tale first, and let us decide if we still want to get involved in your affairs or not.”

The chancellor rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Let me help you with the start, then,” Tyr said. “These… rogues are the people who refused the Wraith-repelling virus, I assume. They seem to have developed a twisted doctrine about meddling with _natural_ things, which they vehemently reject. Vehemently enough to support their opinion with weapons.”

“That about sums it up,” the chancellor admitted glumly. “Only that there’s no single doctrine. Each group has its own credo and guidelines. Some of them are harmless – mere isolationists – others, like the ones that have attacked you today, are more militant. But the worst part is…” he couldn’t continue. His hands were shaking, his eyes shone with unshed tears.

“Please, Chancellor,” Tyr said evenly. “If we are to be of any use, we need to know what is going on. _All_ of it.”

“Some have become Wraith-worshippers,” the chancellor whispered. “They say the Wraith are the well-deserved punishment for our blasphemy. They… they’re calling for a holy war against the rest of us.”

“You should smoke them out of their rat-holes,” Tyr suggested.

“We have tried,” the chancellor answered. “But we are not used to hunting down our own people. That was never supposed to happen.”

“They are not _your_ people any longer,” Tyr pointed out. “They have chosen to isolate themselves, to be different. They have turned against you. They would call in the Wraith if they could, just to see you… _punished_.”

“That won’t matter,” Druhin said. “The Wraith can’t feed from us anymore. It would kill them; they won’t risk that.”

“Perhaps not, but they would kill you all, for just the same reason,” Tyr answered bluntly. “You are a threat to them now. You have paid a terrible price for your immunity. Do you want to be massacred by traditional means, just because you are too queasy to eliminate a small group of people who intend to get you killed anyway?”

“He’s right, Chancellor,” the young aide said quietly. “If we don’t deal the rogues a swift strike, they’ll get us all killed. Then everything we’ve fought for, everything we’ve sacrificed, would be for nothing. Our people would have died for nothing.”

“I know that, Turval,” the chancellor replied bitterly. “Believe me; I know that all too well.”

“Then you must make your move now, Chancellor,” the young man urged. “Before they find the means to call in the Wraith. They will, eventually… there are gifted people among them: scientists, technicians. We must strike as long as we can!”

“And how do you intend to do that?” Druhin asked. “None of our experienced officers have survived. None that would be trained in such operation, that is. The militia can’t do this without someone leading them. Someone who’s done similar jobs earlier. And we don’t _have_ that someone.”

“You have him now,” Tyr stated calmly. “Up till a year ago, I was a mercenary – a highly respected one. The best, in fact, that you could want for the job.”

“Mercenaries get paid,” the chancellor said. “We don’t have here anything we could possibly offer you.”

“Yes you have,” Tyr replied. “You have a city with plenty of available space to live in. Should we fail to find a way home, we shall need a place to live. I get your rogues for you, and you give me enough place for a family. A large one.”

“You have a family?” the chancellor asked in surprise.

“Not yet,” Tyr gave Freya a look full of proprietary pride. “But my wife is with child… and I intend to have other wives as is custom among my people. They would need a home.”

“And so would we,” Höhne added. “As we are the only Perseids aboard the _Andromeda_ , if we’re trapped in this galaxy, we’ll have no other choice than to mate, to ensure the continuation of our species.”

Both the chancellor and his aide stared at the – decidedly male-looking – Perseids unbelievingly.

“We thought you were both men,” young Turval finally blurted out.

“We are,” Höhne agreed amiably, “but we’re also both female. This is a peculiarity of our species,” he giggled a bit. “If you ask me, it’s a very economic solution, as it results in dual pregnancies after each mating.”

“Your world must be largely overpopulated, then,” Turval grinned.

“Not really,” Höhne said. “You see, we’re only fertile for a very short time in each cycle, and a Perseid cycle is… well, it’s considerably longer than one of your years, if my calculations concerning your planet’s movements are correct.”

“Your calculations are _always_ correct, Technical Director,” Rekeeb commented true-heartedly, and the Nietzscheans and even Harper rolled their eyes in exasperation. Rekeeb’s blatant hero worship was getting on everyone’s nerves aboard the _Andromeda_ – with the exception of Höhne, of course, who considered it as his due.

“Thank you, Rekeeb,” he said without false modesty. “Of course, bringing our fertility cycles in alignment isn’t an easy task, either, but given enough time…. In any case, we, too, will need something we can call our home,” he finished hurriedly, seeing the thunderous expression on Tyr’s face. “And I’m sure there will be enough work for us to last a lifetime.”

“No doubt about _that_ ,” the chancellor agreed ruefully. “It would be better, though, if you didn’t mention your… specific nature to our people, at least not right away. A man having multiple wives is something they can deal with – that’s something they’ve already seen by other people of our own galaxy. But someone who’s male and female at the same time might just be too much for them to digest.”

“It’s perfectly normal for my species,” Höhne said, a bit indignantly.

“I’m sure it is,” Druhin replied. “But you must understand that the only non-human species we’ve ever met are the Wraith. And our people have just suffered a severe trauma. Tempers are often unchecked, and a potential victim is easily found in these times.”

“Which reminds me,” Tyr turned to Harper. “If I were you, boy, I would not mention Magog infection, either.”

“His condition is infectious?” the chancellor asked in concern,

“No,” Tyr replied calmly. “I have promised him to kill him before reaching that stage. And I always keep my promises.”

“Yeah, but you’re going man-hunting, and I’m sure as hell _not_ goin’ with you,” Harper reminded him.

“That does not matter,” Tyr said. “Freya will stay with you when I am not here. She is just as capable of fulfilling my promises as I am.”

“You’d kill in his stead?” the chancellor asked the blonde beauty in complete shock.

“I am his wife,” Freya replied simply; “the head of his family and the Matriarch of his future Pride. It is my duty – and my privilege – to carry out his duties when he is hindered.”

“Thank you,” Harper bowed to her in mock respect. “I’m feelin’ so much better already.”

“You should,” Freya answered. “At least you can be sure that we would never abandon you to a fate much worse than simple death.”

Harper thought about that for a moment.

“You’re right,” he then said. “I _do_ feel a lot better.”

“May I ask what does this… infectious stage include that you would prefer to be killed than go through it?” the chancellor intrigued.

“It’s a nice euphemism for the fact that when the little buggers mature, they’ll tear me open from the inside crawl out of my still twitching corpse and start attacking people around me,” Harper replied. “Disgusting business, really. But with Nietzscheans around me, you don’t have to worry. They’re gonna shoot me dead before the whole mess starts, fast-frying the things in me in the process and keeping everyone safe.”

“And there’s absolutely no cure for this?” Turval asked, his face acquiring a sickly greenish pallor. 

Harper shook his head. “Nothing short of killing me, I’m afraid. These fellas are a lot harder to kill than I am. Listen, if you think I’m too much of a risk, I can return to the _Andromeda_ where people have already gotten used to the thought of having me around.”

“How long have you…” Turval trailed off, uncertain how to phrase his question.

“…had the guys in my guts?” Harper finished for him helpfully. “Couple of months, by now. Yeah, it sucks to have such a short life expectation, but hey, you can get used to almost everything.”

“ _Almost_ would be the key word here, I assume,” Turval said. 

Harper shrugged. “If you think _this_ is bad, you should have seen how I spent my entire youth. At least I can hope for a clean outcome now.”

“You bear your fate bravely,” the chancellor said. “But I think Mr. Anasazi is right. You should not mention your… condition to our people. They probably won’t react well.”

“Can’t say I’d blame them,” Harper grinned humourlessly. “A piece of advice for _you_ though: you shouldn’t mention Tyr’s… _involvement_ to Captain Hunt. He… wouldn’t react well, either.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Captain Dylan Hunt, in the meantime, was not a happy man. He didn’t like to have the Nietzscheans out of eyesight, even though he still held the bones of Drago Museveni hostage and thus could be sure that Tyr would return – eventually. He didn’t like the Perseids following their own agenda. And while he was generally fond of the Than, he most certainly didn’t like to have the _Andromeda_ at the mercy of the Amber bugs, without Harper to supervise them and to jump in, should anything go wrong.

“I hope Höhne or Harper will establish some means of communications, and soon,” he said morosely to Rommie. “I hate not knowing what’s going on down there.”

“It won’t be easy, considering how deep underground the government complex lies and how primitive Hoffan technology in all non-medical areas is,” the avatar replied thoughtfully. “I don’t like being separated from my only engineer, either.”

“Harper’s deserved a break,” Dylan pointed out, even though he agreed with Rommie in the matter.

“That’s true,” the android said. “But I’m afraid this is more than just wanting to visit a planet again.”

Dylan stared at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“He once told me that he wanted to be buried on a real planet,” Rommie answered simply. “He wouldn’t care which one, he said, as long as he’d be covered by real soil and could rest among fellow humans.”

“You think he’s preparing himself to die?” Dylan asked with a frown.

“His condition has worsened lately,” Rommie reminded him. “He’s begun to develop an immunity against the serum. Once it doesn’t work anymore, the larvae will hatch. He knows that.”

“The more reason for him to stay aboard, where Trance can treat him if necessary,” Dylan said. “Had I known his condition was that bad, I’d never let him go down to Hoff.”

“Dylan, you know as well as I do that there’s no cure for Magog infection, or else Trance would have done something already,” Rommie said logically.

“That’s not entirely true,” Dylan argued. “She’s healed _Tyr_ , after all.”

“No,” Rommie said. “She flooded Tyr’s body with some extremely strong poison and with hard radiation. Fortunately, Tyr’s Nietzschean genes and his nanobots were stronger than the larvae. We still can’t be sure about the long-term effects, though. It’s still possible that the baby Freya’s expecting will be Tyr’s only child – or the only undamaged one. And if _that_ happens, I won’t give half a throne for Trance’s life.”

“Trance can take care of herself,” Dylan shrugged. “She’s a lot sneakier than she looks – and she’s tough, too.”

Rommie nodded. “True enough. But I wouldn’t underestimate the… _sneakiness_ of a vengeful Nietzschean, either, if I were you. Or that of his wife. Besides, have you noticed that Trance looks, well… a bit listless, since we entered this galaxy? And her vitals have somehow changed, too.”

“As if she had some lingering illness?” Dylan asked.

“Since I don’t even guess what counts as normal for a creature like her, I can’t answer that question,” Rommie answered with a shrug. “But if she were human, yes, I’d suspect a health problem.”

“She doesn’t look that great,” Dylan agreed, “and she’s a lot less cheerful than she used to be. I asked her if there’s something wrong, but she said she’s just tired.”

“Which is strange in itself,” Rommie said. “According to the _Maru_ ’s database, in all the years she belonged to the crew, she wasn’t ill for a day.”

“Hmmm…” Dylan pondered over the problem a bit. “Could it have to do something with our current location? I remember she was very ill when Beka tried to get us back to Tarn Vedra with the help of Hasturi’s map. Perhaps her species is more territorial than the rest of us.”

“Perhaps,” Rommie said. “I really can’t tell without sufficient data to base my analysis on. But I’m positive that she knows what’s wrong with her – and that she chooses not to tell us the true reason.”

“Could Beka get it out of her?” Dylan asked. Rommie shook her head.

“I don’t think so, Captain. I don’t think Beka knows Trance half as well as she believes to know her. Besides, she’s very protective about Trance and wouldn’t believe that anything can be wrong with her little purple good luck charm.”

“What can we do then?”

“I’ll continue watching Trance around the clock,” Rommie hesitated. “Perhaps you should modify my privacy protocols, Captain. I don’t think we should leave her unmonitored, not even for a short time.”

The suggestion shocked Dylan a bit. “Do you think she would be willing to harm us?”

“I don’t know,” Rommie answered. “But she’s an unknown quality, and that’s a risk we can’t take right now… alone and lost in a foreign galaxy, three thousand years before our own time.”

That was a tactically sound statement, and so Dylan reluctantly agreed to modify the privacy protocols as far as Trance was concerned. The fact that he’d already done so concerning Tyr’s quarters didn’t ease his conscience a bit. But some things simply had to be done, whether he liked them or not. The safety of his ship and crew was of primary importance – even at the costs of said crew’s privacy.

After the somewhat uncomfortable discussion with Rommie, he returned to the bridge to check out how Radiance of Wisdom and Rev Bem were progressing with the Hoffan star chart.

“It’s a slow process,” the Sapphire Than explained, making those low, cackling sounds that expressed impatience and irritation for her kind. “These charts are old... and imprecise, to put it mildly. It’s very time-consuming to calculate all possible deviations, -even with the help of _Andromeda_ ’s AI.”

“Haven’t you made any progress at all, then?” Dylan asked, his disappointment apparent.

The Sapphire Than wiggled with her antennae encouragingly.

“Of course we have, Captain Hunt. We’ve already identified a number of the closest stars – unfortunately, none of them have any planets that could support humanoid life. We’re slowly widening the radius of our search. We don’t want to overlook anything of importance due to haste.”

“God forbid!” Dylan said sarcastically. “Have you tried to scan for any artificial objects in space as well? I don’t want to be surprised by these Wraith.”

“Of course, Captain, the various research patterns are running simultaneously,” Radiance of Wisdom answered. “We’re also looking for a suitable sun for the _Andromeda_ , where she can refill her depleted energy reserves – just in case.”

In case they should detect a Wraith ship. Dylan understood. And agreed.

“Very well,” he said. “Keep me informed. I’ll be in my quarters, if needed.”

“Doing what?” Rev Bem inquired, with a mischievous glint in his small, beady eyes.

“Wondering in what kind of trouble our people can get down on the planet,” Dylan replied dryly and left.


	7. Chapter 6 - Manhunt and Other Unpleasant Things

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the episode, Hoffans seemed to have only one name. However, it’s highly unlikely for a society on the technological level of 19th century Earth. So I simply assumed that they just didn’t introduce themselves by their full names in the episode.  
> The _sonograph_ is entirely my invention. And no, I don’t have the faintest idea how it may work. The details about Than mating are from the "All Systems Universtiy" website.  
> Beta read by erinnyes, thanks!

**CHAPTER 06 – MANHUNT AND OTHER UNPLEASANT THINGS**

Had Dylan Hunt been able to see his crewmembers at the moment, it would have made him even less happy than he already was. At least where his weapons control officer was concerned – who was already on his way with two Hoffan militia units to drive out the most fanatic of the rebel groups of its hiding hole.

One thing Tyr had to give the rebels: while they were obsessed fanatics in general, they weren’t fools at all when it came to practical things. This particular group had taken up residence in one of the main _sonograph_ stations. In Hoffan terms – according to Harper’s interpretation – that was the local equivalent of some very primitive short-range radio. A new achievement with which Hoffan engineers had only developed a few years ago. The range was still barely enough to bridge the distance of a few streets, but the principle itself was sound enough (again, according to Harper), and in time it could be turned into something a lot more efficient.

Unless the Wraith came and levelled the planet surface in the not too far future, of course.

Right now, the _sonograph_ barely made it possible for the various rebel groups to communicate with each other. But since most of them settled in the same abandoned area of the city – save for the isolationists, of course, who didn’t want to deal with _anyone_ – it was enough. And one day the comm system would doubtlessly become powerful enough to reach the Wraith. Consequently, this particular group - generally called the Purists - had to be captured and their research confiscated before they could reach a breakthrough with the new technology.

“We’ll level the whole building and break the _sonograph_ machines to pieces, if we have to,” Officer Orfil Goral, the leader of the militia units, declared. “We’re supposed to try saving the machines for the government engineers if possible, though. This is valuable research we could put to good use later.”

Tyr nodded. Developing your own technology meant you weren’t dependant on other people. It was a reasonable policy in the long run – although not necessarily a quick fix.

“What do you know about the members of this Purist group?” he asked “Are they known to the government by name?”

Officer Goral nodded with his iron-grey head.

“Their leader is a woman named Deyna Cussack,” he said. “She used to be a medical researcher. In fact, she’d even worked on the virus for a while, like almost every name-worthy medical scientist in our world. A few years ago, though, she had some sort of… _enlightenment_ , while visiting another planet, and after her return she flat out refused to continue her research… in the name of genetic purity.”

“So, this whole movement has _not_ started after the mass casualties due to the virus?” Tyr asked.

The Hoffan shook his head. “No, the so-called Purists have been among us ever since the recent Wraith culling… more than thirty years ago by now. Their main agenda has always been to keep scientists – especially doctors – from what they call ‘tampering with nature’, declaring that those who keep their genetic purity would be spared, as the evil dwelling within the Wraith could not harm them.”

“I thought they worshipped the Wraith,” Tyr said with a frown.

“Not in the sense that they would think the Wraith were _good_ ,” Goral explained. “This is a truly twisted way of thinking indeed. On the one hand, they hate and despise the Wraith as much as everyone else. Or even more, as they consider the Wraith an abomination of nature. On the other hand, they envision an apocalypse in which the Pure Ones would face the Wraith and destroy them with their True Faith – and for that reason, yes, they do want the Wraith to come, so that they can prove their righteousness.”

“Not caring how many others would die in the process,” Tyr finished the thought in dismay. 

Goral nodded again. “Exactly. In their eyes the impure deserve to die.”

“You know an awful lot about them, it seems,” Tyr said with mild suspicion.

“I used to be one of them,” the officer replied simply, “and a very eager and fanatic one, at that. Until I ran into the Wraith on an off-world trade mission. It cost me about twenty years of my life. I know it’s hard to believe, but I’m barely older than Turval, the chancellor’s aide… well, I was once.”

“That must have been quite the eye-opener,” Tyr commented wryly.

“It was,” Goral said. “I’d like nothing more than to herd all these idiot Purists together and send them on their way to the nearest culling beam. After all, isn’t that what they want most? But not _here_ , not at the cost of innocent lives. So if, we can take them prisoner and save their research, fine with me. But I won’t lose any sleep if we have to shoot them all and blow up their rat-hole, either.”

Nietzscheans being free of human queasiness when it came to get a job done, Tyr completely agreed with the sentiment. “Do you have a ground plan of some sort of the structure of this building?” he asked, eyeing the _sonograph_ station.

“None,” the officer replied, “but I know where the entrances are. This is an old meeting place of the Purists. I’ve been here several times and know the layout by heart.”

“But since they know how that you have deflected to the other side, they may have booby-trapped the entrances,” Tyr pointed out. “I assume these people know how to make explosives – and won’t hesitate to use them. Do they have ex-militia members among them?”

“A few of which I know,” Goral said. “But I see your point. How do you want to continue?”

“Show me the entrances,” Tyr replied, “and we will see. There are ways to locate and neutralize explosives – or to use them to our advantage. I have some small experience with that sort of thing.”

Which was the understatement of the century, of course, but the officer couldn’t know that, and the time wasn’t right to go into detail. Goral showed Tyr the two entrances of the sonograph building. One was the front gate of the house, another one a cleverly hidden little door on the eastern front. Nonetheless, Tyr sent two soldiers around the building to check every other possible escape route.

“Keep covered,” he warned them. “The last thing we need is them realizing that an attack is under way and calling in reinforcements. A quick, unexpected strike is our best chance; we cannot besiege the station for who knows how long.”

The soldiers nodded, apparently encouraged by their new, competent and experienced ally, and did as ordered. Half an hour later they came back, reporting that they’d found two more possible exits: doors that led to old, abandoned labs inside the building and might – or might not – be connected to the hide-out of the Purists.

“That’s bad,” Goral said. “We only have twelve men. Divided into four groups, that’s nowhere near enough. I’d like to avoid getting my men killed if I can – we’re not that many that we could afford sacrificing even one of them unnecessarily.”

“Agreed,” Tyr said. “But we do not need four groups. All we have to do is to block these other exits… preferably with heavy stone blocks or iron bars or whatever else is difficult to blow out of the way. Can we found anything here we could use?”

“The new house down the street, the unfinished one,” one of the soldiers suggested. “We might find there building material.”

“Go and see,” Goral ordered, “but remember, keep out of sight. Use the side lanes. And hurry up!”

Unfortunately, all the soldiers could find was a small heap of unused bricks and some leftover mortar blocks, hardened to stone. There was no time to break down the half-built walls for more.

“We will use what we have,” Tyr decided with a shrug. “Bring the mortar blocks and stuff them into the smaller exits as tightly as you can. The blockade does not have to fill the doorways entirely – we might need a little room to drop in exclusives anyway.”

The soldiers obeyed, and while they were working on the blockade, Tyr and Goral surveyed the weapons that were at their disposal. The Hoffans had flintlocks and even some primitive grenades; of the latter, the soldiers had brought a handsome amount. Tyr had his überdimensional gauss gun, his force lance and a few smoke grenades – unfortunately, not nearly enough of those.

“It would be a lot easier if our goal were to simply kill them and level the whole building,” he said thoughtfully. “Getting them alive will prove… problematic.”

“If it were just the leaders, I’d say kill them all,” Goral answered. “But there might still be well-meaning idiots, the kind I used to be not so long ago. _Those_ I’d like to give a chance.”

Tyr shrugged. “This is your mission. I am just tagging along. All right then, what about collapsing the rooms behind the side entrances? That would enhance the efficiency of our rather pitiful blockades, and even if someone gets caught in the explosion, you can still hope to dig them out from under the debris alive.”

“That could work,” Goral agreed. “Let’s do it.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Harper thoroughly enjoyed working with the Hoffan engineers. Sure, the people here were somewhat backward technologically – before the Industrial Revolution, or whatever counted for that in their society – but they were curious, intelligent and eager to learn. People whom Harper, unenhanced mudfoot from a backyard planet himself, felt a great deal of kinship with. As much as he liked working with Perseids – and he really did; it was a great opportunity to learn from them – being surrounded by fellow humans gave him an unexpected feeling of peace and… and _rightness_. As if he would _belong_ here, more than he’d ever belonged anywhere else.

Although Hoff, too, was a besieged world, with a terrible tragedy darkening its most recent past, it was still a great difference when one compared it with Earth… well, with the Earth _Harper_ had in memory anyway. It was a clean, pleasant planet, people weren’t starving, nobody was running around in torn rags, everyone had a roof above their heads and a firmly established place in society. And it wasn’t just because half the planet’s population had died from one day to the next. If the brief forays into the city were any indication, they’d had enough for everyone, even before the desperate measures they had taken to free themselves from the Wraith.

Unlike the esteemed Captain Hunt, Harper understood the Hoffans' decision all too well. He and his friends on Earth would have done the same – and more – if that would have freed them from the Drago-Kazov. Or the Magog. Or human traitors who collaborated with the _Übers_ to save their own worthless lives at the costs of everyone else’s.

So no, Harper had no problems with the actions of the Hoffan government. In his nightmares, he could still see his uncle Dion, face wet with tears and hand trembling, forced to kill his Magog-infested twin sons before the larvae could hatch. He could hear the desperate pleas of his sister Rhianna, and the death cries of their parent who’d tried to fight off the Drago-Kazov slavers… in vain. Any method that would make an end of these things would have been welcome on Earth.

In the meantime, establishing communication with the _Andromeda_ was making slow progress. A female engineer by the name of Madge Reed had shown him some technical descriptions of the _sonograph_ , although not necessarily the newest ones, as she’d apologetically said, and Harper found the basic technology a sound one.

“First, you’ll need a better energy source,” he explained. “A _much_ better one, but that’s doable. I could hook it up with the power source of my force lance – temporarily, mind you – and it might actually work for a while… unless the power source fries the whole thing, of course. We’ll have to find a safer way to power up these little gizmos…” he looked around in frustration. “Do you have a working one at all?”

“We have a prototype,” the female engineer – definitely a babe, although too old-fashioned to flirt with, he decided with mild disappointment – handed him a surprisingly small item. It looked like a small metal barrel, lying on the side and welded to a seemingly solid block of black marble. Or something that _looked_ like black marble; it was way too lightweight to actually _be_ marble.

“Ookay,” Harper studied what counted as a blueprint for Hoffans and compared it with the _sonograph_ prototype, “this seems to be some sort of access port here. Now, if I hotwired it to the power source of my force lance…” He cursed when the thing nearly electrocuted him. “Okay, new plan. Apparently, I need to take this thing apart first…”

And he began to do just that, before the amazed and just a little frightened eyes of half a dozen Hoffan engineers.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Born to Starfire, the leader of the small Than hive aboard the _Andromeda_ , used the break to hold council with her fellow bugs. Radiance of Wisdom couldn’t attend, of course, as she was still occupied with her research, but that didn’t matter. She was the Diamond Than’s right-hand-bug and her confidant; she learned everything a lot earlier than the others anyway.

“We need to make a decision, in case the _Andromeda_ won’t find a way back in the near future,” Born to Starfire announced without preamble; Than were very straightforward people, especially when among themselves. “Mating time is in two months, and we must find the best place for procreation.”

Than procreation was a tricky thing indeed. Being a hermaphroditic species, they mated by laying large clutches of eggs in a common burrow. As a role, up to a hundred Than could place their eggs in any given burrow, although, of course, the small hive aboard the _Andromeda_ would _not_ have this option… to their great regret, as the more Than shared a burrow, the greater was the variety of the gene pool, and the stronger, more capable the offspring.

The genetic material of all the Than in the spawn mix, produced tens of thousands of small, helpless grubs. These were not particularly intelligent, and spent several months eating specialized fungi grown on Than farms. After that time, the surviving grubs spun cocoons, in which they metamorphed into adult Than. 

It was a risky process. Even under ideal circumstances, only one from a hundred Than survived to reach their adult stage, simply because the metamorphosis was too stressful for their systems. The survivors, however, considered every Than who participated in their spawn their “parent”. As a result, Than society was supported by a web of complex family relationships in which every Than had hundreds of parents and siblings to call on in times of need.

In a galaxy where they were the only representatives of their race, the risk was even greater, of course. So the handful of bugs had to consider their choices very carefully. They could not afford to lose an entire spawn, should they be forced to remain here.

“Can’t we use the hydroponics gardens?” Crimson Shadow, delegated by the Amber bugs to represent them, asked.

“Or we could transfer great amounts of soil from the planet to one of the empty hangar decks,” Sword of Midnight, the senior of the Emerald warriors, suggested.

“We cannot spawn aboard the _Andromeda_ ,” Glittering Starlight said. As Beka was currently piloting the ship, the Ruby Than could join the gathering. “That would only work for one generation… if we’re _very_ lucky. We’ll need a planet, if for nothing else than for feeding our offspring. We can’t grow the fungi on the ship – there’s simply not enough room for that.”

“We should start growing food in about a month, unless we manage to get back to our own time before that,” the Diamond Than agreed.

“Do you really count on that possibility?” Sword of Midnight asked doubtfully.

“At the very least I don’t reject if off-hand,” Born to Starfire replied. “For my part, I’d prefer to go back, of course. But we need an alternate plan, in case we can’t.”

“Order Radiance of Wisdom to find a planet for us,” the Ruby Than said with the bug equivalent of a shrug.

“I will,” Born to Starfire answered. “In a month. I want to give Captain Hunt sufficient time to find a way back first.”

“And if he can’t?” the Amber Than asked.

“In that case we’ll have to settle in this galaxy and rebuild our society on a suitable planet,” the Diamond Than replied simply.

The Amber Than wiggled her antennae in concern. “But – but what about those Wraith? We’d be unprotected on a planet. We’ve not nearly enough warriors to fight them off.”

“Firstly, we don’t even know if the Wraith could feed from us at all,” Born to Starfire pointed out reasonably. “Perhaps we’re naturally immune.”

“They could simply kill us all in that case, _because_ we’re useless for them,” Sword of Midnight warned.

“For my part, I’m more concerned about genetic degradation,” the Ruby Than said. “There are too few of us – would we be able to provide the necessary genetic variety to spawn healthy offspring?”

“That _is_ a justified concern,” Born to Starfire agreed. “But there are hundreds of genetic samples in the _Andromeda_ ’s cryogenic labs. I’ve had Radiance of Wisdom check them out. Several dozen of them are Than. We’ll find a way to add them, or at least some of them, to the spawn mix; Than who used to serve in the High Guard usually had excellent qualities.”

“And by the next mating, we can add a different sample,” Glittering Starlight was getting the idea. “That could work.”

“We’ll find a way,” the Diamond Than said. “We’ve survived the Long Night. We’ve survived the Nietzscheans, and the Magog invasion. We’re a tough race. We’ll manage.”

“We will,” the Emerald Than agreed. “The first couple of generations will have a hard time, but we _will_ manage. We always do, don’t we?”

“Indeed,” the Diamond Than said. “And we still have a slim chance to find a way back home. All right, you may return to your duties now. I’ll inform you about any further events.”

The various bugs filed out of their leader’s quarters, chatting excitedly in their cackling and chirping language. Now that they had a goal before their great compound eyes again, they began to look forward to getting familiar with this new galaxy. Exploration was ingrained in their very nature.

They had no idea that their meeting had been watched by two different entities. Born to Starfire _had_ ordered privacy mode, but there were always ways for the willing.

Trance Gemini sat among her beloved plants, staring at the little, hand-held surveillance screen she had pilfered from some abandoned area of the ship right after having joined the crew. It was annoying that in this form she needed such technical help, but she was slowly learning to deal with it. What she’d just observed, though, left her completely dumbfounded.

“How could they accept to stay here?” she whispered unbelievingly. “How could they even consider it? Can’t they see that we don’t _belong_ here? That we _must_ go back, by any means necessary?”

 _Necessary for whom?_ the AI of the _Andromeda Ascendant_ , also indulging in some unauthorized observation, pondered. _For the entire crew – or just for her?_

The AI decided to discuss the problem with her avatar before reporting to their captain. As a physical entity, the android might have a better insight into the confusing thinking patterns of the crew. In any case, she put a security alert and a lock on the cryogenic lab. The genetic samples were from her former crew. She didn’t want them to be stolen – or destroyed. Whoever chose to make the first step.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
In the meantime, the Hoffan militia had collapsed the side entrances of the _sonograph_ station and were now pushing forward into the inner rooms of the building. Everything was eerily quiet, and Tyr’s survival instinct kicked into high alert, as there were no dead bodies to explain the unnatural silence of the place. The whole setting had the uncomfortable air of a trap, and Nietzscheans never walked into a trap willingly… unless they were sure that they could walk out of it again.

His suspicions were confirmed when they entered a large, twilit room – and someone promptly began to shoot at them. Several somebodies, in fact. Granted, the defenders of the station had the same primitive flintlocks as the militia, but as Harper had pointed out before, projectile weapons could cause ugly wounds and generally a great mess, and the last thing Tyr wanted to do was to test his nanobots’ abilities by dealing with such a wound.

He threw himself onto the floor, rolling away from the firing line, and with the same move shot at the muzzle flash of the flintlocks. Fortunately, flintlocks were rather imprecise weapons, and the rebels were not trained to use them. They could pull the trigger and kill anyone stupid enough to stay in the firing line, but their aim was miserable. At least the militia was familiar with the quirks of a flintlock, so their aim was a lot better.

Of course, none of those weapons were a match for Tyr’s gauss gun – and no matter how fanatical the defenders were, they could never hope to stand a chance against a Nietzschean. They fought for something they strongly believed in, no matter how twisted their beliefs might be. They didn’t fear death, and that made them dangerous. But Tyr fought to _survive_ – and thus he had the much better chance. It was that simple.

Flintlocks had the additional disadvantage that they needed to be reloaded after each shot. Tyr’s gauss guns did not confront him with the same problem. But that simple fact didn’t make him careless – or particularly merciful. He shot at everything that moved and was pleasantly surprised how quickly the militia adapted to his fighting style. Perhaps there was still hope for these people.

However, this was the rebels’ lair, and they knew it much better than the militia, even with Officer Goral’s help. They popped up from behind furniture and through hidden side doors, too close to the soldiers to use their weapons, stabbing them with primitive but razor-sharp, home-made bayonets. Their obvious intention was to cause as much damage as possible, without regard of their own safety.

Dropping his gauss gun, Tyr grabbed the arm of one of the defenders with both hands and slammed it down onto his knee, breaking it like a dry twig. The man howled in pain, but Tyr ignored him and tossed him at his friends, rolling away on the floor with the momentum, landing on his feet again and ramming his fully erect bone blades into the unprotected belly of another rebel. Using his defeated opponent as a shield, Tyr whirled around and slashed out with his other arm, hitting a third rebel in the throat, severing a main blood vessel in the process.

“You thought the Wraith were scary?” he snarled. “Obviously, you have never met a Nietzschean before!”

True enough, with white teeth flashing in his dark face and blood dripping from his bone blades, he was every bit as intimidating as a Wraith to someone who’d never seen a Nietzschean before. Or to someone who _had_ seen one, for that matter. Facing an enraged Niet was _not_ a pleasant thing, whether for the first or for the umpteenth time.

As a result of such successful intimidation techniques, the rebels gave up the fight shortly thereafter. The soldiers then systematically searched the entire building, gathering up every single weapon (for their own use) and every oh-so-tiny piece of technology they could find. Partly for Harper to study the _sonograph_ development further, partly because they didn’t want to leave it behind for other potential rebel groups to use.

Deeper within the building, they also found a great deal of documents: detailed intel about other rebel groups, their goals, membership and ideologies; carefully drawn plans for possible cooperation with said groups; maps that marked the whereabouts of those groups. There were also boxes full of flyers with anti-government propaganda… and books, explaining the teachings of the Purist leader, apparently newly printed.

“Made in one of the abandoned printing manufactures, no doubt,” Officer Goral commented, leafing through a copy. “Excellent work, actually – wasted on such worthless topic. I wonder sometimes why it’s so often the intelligent people who’re drawn to the most insane movements.”

“Their way of rebellion and independence,” another, older soldier replied with a shrug. “They think far too much. They believe they’re smarter, better than other people.”

“Well, the problem is that they _are_ smarter,” Goral murmured. The old soldier shrugged again.

“Not smart enough to realize that the Wraith just won’t care,” he said. “For them, food is food. They’re not choosy that way.”

“They’re part of nature!” one of the arrested rebels said stubbornly.

“So is the flood, and none of you has ever argued for letting the river wash away the city,” the old soldier replied, rolling his eyes. “You people turn and twist simple things until they become too complicated for you to see them as they are – and then you blame the others. I hope the Council will sentence you to be exiled to a Wraith-infested planet, so that you can enjoy _nature_ in its full.”

“You can’t frighten us,” a new voice said, and a tall, blonde, middle-aged woman was led in by two soldiers, handcuffed. She wore a long, elegant grey dress, her hair pinned up in a loose bun. Tyr recognized her from the picture on the back cover of the books: it was Deyna Cussack herself, the Purist leader.

“You can’t frighten us,” she replied with an arrogance born as much from her formerly privileged status as a head researcher as from her current role as a cult leader. “We’re the Chosen; when all you abominations have perished, we shall rule the world in purity and glory.”

“The only place you’ll rule anything at all is your prison cell, madam,” Officer Goral replied sourly, “where you won’t be able to poison the minds of idealistic young people with your sick doctrines. I hope no other person will ever pay with decades from their life for your ignorance the way I have.”

To everyone’s surprise, the Purist leader laid a placating hand upon his forearm.

“But don’t you see?” she asked, almost begging. “You’ve been _Chosen_! Sure you’ve lost a few years, but what is that small price compared with the glory of helping nature reinstating the proper order of things? We’re designated to feed the Wraith – that is our sacred purpose in the universe. You should be grateful that you’ve already been allowed to fulfil your purpose – and even lived to tell the others about it!”

Goral pushed her away in disgust, with enough force that she fell against the nearby wall.

“I’ve been _used_ ,” he spat. “Like cattle. The best years of my life had been stolen from me, in mere moments, because I had been stupid enough to listen to you. Oh, be sure that I’ll tell the others about it… about the shock and the pain and the feeling of life being drawn from my body… what it means to die, piece by piece, just so that some monster could continue its wretched existence. Take this sick wench away… I can’t bear to even see her any longer.”

The soldiers obeyed, leading the Purist leader away. She didn’t resist; on the contrary, she went with her head proudly raised, apparently enjoying all the attention and her potential martyrdom for The Case.

Officer Goral leaned against the wall and sighed. “Hard to believe that I used to follow her every word religiously.”

“Which shows the actual use of religion with crystal clarity,” Tyr commented cynically. “But at least you have found the most important thing in life – even if a little late.”

“And that would be?” the Hoffan asked, without true interest.

“Survival,” the Nietzschean replied. “Now, let us return to your government complex and see what Harper can do with these new little technical gizmos.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Needless to say that Harper was more than happy to get his hands on the new, improved _sonograph_ machines. And so were the Perseids, too; Rekeeb even begged off the geothermic energy research (and possible technologies to use it) for a while, just to take a look at the newest versions. As he’d put it, playing with such primitive technology was a true challenge, and what self-respecting Perseid could withstand that?

“Oh, oh,” Rekeeb almost cooed in excitement, “they’ve definitely worked hard to improve this. See the new power source? It’s much stronger this time, which would increase the efficiency of the apparatus at least threefold… if not more.”

“Still way too weak, though,” Harper commented, comparing blueprints, disembowelled prototype and new, intact pieces with each other.

“It is,” Rekeeb agreed, “but that’s just a temporary setback. I’m sure that we’ll get these improved versions up and running in no time. All we need to construct is the right sort of battery, I think.”

“What about the range?” Councillor Druhin, who’d come over to the lab personally to get some first-hand update about their headway, asked. “Could they have already sent a message off-planet?”

“I don’t think so,” Harper said. “The frequency on which the _sonograph_ sends doesn’t have the right range. But they’ve definitely been on the right path. They’d have figured out the right frequency, eventually. And they’d have found the proper power source, too. This thing has great promise.”

“Can we use it to contact the _Andromeda_?” Tyr asked.

“Not in its current state,” Harper replied, “but you’re talking to a super genius here, in case you’ve forgotten. We’ll modify it in no time, and then you can chat with Dylan again.”

“Talking to our esteemed Captain does not rank very highly on my priority list,” Tyr said dryly. “In fact, I feel relieved that I don’t have to listen to his morale lectures every day. I am a bit concerned, though, that he does not like to be left in the dark about our… _activities_ down here, and shall send that android after us to spy on us on his behalf, _unless_ we send him regular reports. I’d prefer to prevent _that_.”

“I thought Captain Hunt and you have the same goal before your eyes,” the chancellor said, a little bewildered.

“Captain Hunt is on a quest,” Tyr said. “On a noble and romantic quest – one that I am _not_ necessarily interested in. My wife and I have accompanied him for a while, but this is not a permanent arrangement.”

“Why not?” the chancellor asked.

Tyr shrugged. “I have serious doubts about the success of his quest. He is a person who wants to have his cake _and_ eat it, at the same time. But one cannot build an empire by being queasy about applying a little violence from time to time. I do not join lost cases – not for the long run.”

Chancellor Druhin shook his head in disapproval. “It’s not an honest thing to deceive him, then,” he said.

“I am not deceiving the good captain,” Tyr replied. “He knows very well that I will only stay with him as long as it serves my best interests. He has accepted this arrangement because I am the best and he needs me.”

“And in which way does serving under his command serve your best interests?” Chancellor Druhin wasn’t easily persuaded. 

Tyr’s respect for him went up another notch. He liked his potential allies smart and suspicious.

“I am the last of my Pride,” he replied simply. “I needed a safe place for my family. The _Andromeda_ was the safest place I could find so far. But I am always ready to move on, should I find something better.”

“And Hoff would be better than a large warship?” the chancellor asked doubtfully.

Tyr shrugged. “One cannot raise a family on a warship. Nietzschean metabolism can adapt to practically everything, but it is still better for young children to grown up in a natural environment. Preferably in an unpolluted one.”

“So you’re willing to leave the _Andromeda_ and live among us?” Druhin asked.

“If we do not find a way back home, then yes, I am more than willing to do so,” Tyr answered. “ _If_ you are willing to keep your city safe, that is – not only from the Wraith but from your own idiotic rebels as well.”

“Help us to build up our strength against the Wraith,” Druhin said, ”and we’ll deal with the rebels.”

“By executing them, I hope,” Tyr commented bluntly. “Such fanatics cannot be rehabilitated. Many have tried – and failed. So, give them the martyrdom they seem to want so much… or do you no longer have capital punishment?”

“Theoretically, we do,” the chancellor said, ”though not even our official records can tell when it was last applied. There was simply no reason – which is, I assume, why it has never been removed from our legal codex.”

“Well, do not remove it before you have dealt with the rebels, then,” Tyr advised. The chancellor shook his head.

“It’s not that simple,” he said. “I cannot just have them executed – no Hoffan has murdered another Hoffan for a very long time. People won’t accept it… and our society is built on general acceptance.”

“So, what are you doing with them?” Tyr asked in clear frustration. _Kludges_ were hopelessly hampered by their morale everywhere, it seemed. Even in an unknown galaxy – or in a different universe.

“There will be a trial,” the chancellor said, “and if the jury finds them guilty in high treason as charged – which I don’t doubt for a second – they will be exiled to another planet. One that has been ruined and its population completely extinguished by the Wraith.”

“I thought you had no space-faring capability,” Tyr said in suspicion. “How do you intend to set them out on a different planet? Call the Wraith and ask them for a lift?”

“We don’t have _spaceships_ ,” the chancellor corrected. “But we do have the means to visit other planets all the same.”

“Oh really?” Tyr couldn’t quite suppress the sarcasm in his voice. “And how do you do it? Do you happen to have a multi-dimensional transportation device, a flying carpet or a magic wand?”

“No,” the chancellor replied calmly. “We’ve got a Stargate.”


	8. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The conversation between Tyr and the Hoffan healer has no scientific basis whatsoever. I’ve made the whole thing up, from the scratch.  
> Beta read by erinnyes, thanks.

**CHAPTER 07 – REVELATIONS**

Tyr Anasazi stared at Chancellor Druhin as if the old Hoffan had suddenly sprouted a new head.

“A… _Stargate_ ,” he repeated calmly, in the manner of a man who doesn’t want to upset his obviously insane but otherwise harmless conversation partner. “Is that some sort of urban legend?”

“No,” Druhin replied. “It is a device, built by a long-dead civilization we call the Old Ones. If powered up, it somehow creates a connection between two planets – you can bridge the distance within seconds. We don’t really know how.”

Tyr glanced at Harper and Rekeeb. “Is that possible at all?” he asked.

Harper scratched his head. “Well, it sounds a bit far-fetched, unless…” he snapped with his fingers, excited. “Of course! Wormhole technology!”

“But creating a stable wormhole is incredibly difficult,” Rekeeb said doubtfully, “unless…”

“Unless they’ve found a way to focus huge amounts of energy _and_ regulate the energy flow, so that it would be safe for the travellers to use the wormhole,” Harper finished. “Oh man, I definitely need to see this. I mean, I know that it’s theoretically possible, but nobody has ever managed to create a working prototype, not even in the heyday of the old Commonwealth.”

“Could this device be our way back home?” Tyr asked, looking at the practical side of things, as always.

Harper shrugged. “Well, I can’t say anything before I’ve actually _seen_ it, but… nah, I don’t think so, even if we won’t take the temporal shift into consideration. The energy needed to reach even the closest _planet_ must be astronomical. Crossing _galaxies_ would increase the energy consumption exponentially. Besides, I doubt that a ship of the size of the _Andromeda_ would pass through such a gate.”

“It won’t,” Chancellor Druhin said. “Even the Wraith darts can barely pass through… or the small spaceships the Earth people call a shuttle. But if you want to see the Gate, I’m willing to show it to you – under the condition that you’ll _not_ tell its location anyone.”

“Your people don’t know about its existence?” Rekeeb asked.

“They do; they just don’t know its location,” Druhin replied. 

Tyr nodded. “So that they cannot leave for other planets,” he guessed. “A wise precaution.”

“Truth be told, there isn’t really anywhere to go,” the chancellor said. “The Wraith are everywhere. I haven’t heard of a single world that wouldn’t have been culled regularly.”

Rekeeb frowned. “Why the secrecy, then?”

“Because every gate can open both ways,” the chancellor explained. “And we don’t want to allow the Purists to bring the Wraith upon us that way.”

“But Officer Goral said that this Purist leader had already visited other planets,” Tyr said. “I thought I had misinterpreted his words, but apparently, I have not. How comes that she has not revealed the Wraith the existence of your Stargate?”

“The Wraith know we have one,” Druhin said. “Practically all inhabited worlds do; this is the legacy of the Old Ones to us, younger people. But the Wraith only use orbital Gates, or those that stand in free, open places. Ours is hidden underground. Their gliders would be smashed against the wall. That’s why they come to us in their large hive ships. Those have hundreds of gliders – and a lot of firepower. We never stood a chance against _that_.”

“Would the _Andromeda_ stand a chance?” Tyr asked Harper.

The little engineer rolled his eyes. “Have I seen a Wraith hive ship?” he asked rhetorically and gave a prompt answer. “No, I haven’t! Do I know how big it is, what kind of weapons it has? No, I don’t. So stop bothering me as long as you can’t give me any specifics to work with.” He whirled around and looked at the chancellor expectantly. “Can I take a look at that Stargate of yours now? I won’t say a word to anyone, I swear!”

The chancellor turned to his young aide with a tired smile.

“Turval, would you be so kind as take Mr. Harper to the Gate? No offence, Mr. Anasazi,” he added, looking at Tyr, “but we prefer if as few people know the location as possible. And as an engineer, Mr. Harper is better suited to understand the importance of the Gate than anyone else.”

As much as Tyr hated being left out he had to admit that the chancellor was right. The Stargate was the Hoffans’ best-kept secret, and they had no reason to trust him, just because he’d helped to smoke out that Purist group. Harper, on the other hand, might find out at least _something_ about the working of the Gate.

Hopefully something that the _Andromeda_ crew could use, too. If not for getting home, then, at least, to get to other planets, where they might get more help to reach their ultimate goal.

“You can continue here until Harper gets back,” Tyr said to Rekeeb. 

Nominally, he had no authority over the Perseids, of course, but the chinheads were practical people who allowed those used to be in command to give the orders – and even followed said orders, if it seemed the sensitive thing to do. So Rekeeb simply nodded and kept working on the various sonograph devices, and Tyr looked around impatiently.

“Where is my wife?” he asked. “She was supposed to watch over Harper.”

“She went to the infirmary,” the lovely female Hoffan engineer Harper had called Madge answered him. “She felt a little… queasy, which is not unusual for first pregnancies. Don’t worry, we have got excellent healers here. I’m sure they’ll be able to give her something to lessen the effect.”

“I see,” Tyr said calmly; showing his concern would have been tactically unwise, even in front of potential allies. “I would like to go to that infirmary of yours then, if I may.”

“I can show you the way,” the chancellor offered. “I need to get my medicine anyway… my heart doesn’t serve me as well as it used to before… before the most recent crisis. These are unsettling times for us all.”

He escorted Tyr to the medical facilities that were situated next to the research labs where the infamous anti-Wraith virus had been produced. In a small anteroom they came to some sort of shrine: two paintings, hanging on the wall, and hundreds of small lights blinking reddish-golden in front of them, upon a high-legged little table… like memory candles used in a Wayist monastery.

One of those paintings depicted a lovely blonde woman, wearing the usual, conservative Hoffan clothing, looking up from under her thick eyelashes with a demure smile. The other was the portrait of a man with an open, handsome face, slicked-back dark hair and the brightest blue eyes Tyr could remember to have ever seen – well, aside from those of Charlemagne Bolivar, perhaps. The man wore some sort of non-descript blue uniform… definitely not a military one, and not even close to Hoffan fashion.

“Who are these people?” Tyr asked. “They must have great importance for you if thy are held in such high honours.”

“They are, indeed,” the chancellor replied, while plucking an already burned-down candle from one of the upper rows and replacing it with a fresh one from a wooden box. “They are the ones who’ve freed us from the Wraith… in a manner of speaking. The woman is Perna Rayac, she was the best medical researcher of her generation. She’d done most of the preparation work and research for the virus. The man is Carson Beckett. He was – well, he still is, as far as we know – a medical researcher from the Earth people we’ve told you about. With his unparalleled knowledge in genetics, he provided invaluable help to the perfection of the virus. Without him, it would have taken our scientists several more generations to finish the project.

“Would it?” Tyr gave the picture a closer look. The man didn’t look all that different from any _kludge_ he’d met in his life, but appearances could be deceiving. And a geneticist of such excellence was someone a Nietzschean could always use. “And where are these two now?”

The chancellor sighed. “Perna was among the first healthy volunteers to test the virus. She… she was also one of the first casualties. A terrible loss for our medical science,” he added sadly, “but it was her own choice. Everyone volunteered for the inoculation.”

“You do not need to defend your decision,” Tyr said with a shrug. “I do not judge the methods you try to protect your world with. But what happened to the Earth doctor?”

“He left us with the other Earth people,” the chancellor replied. “They couldn’t understand why we did what we did… and they were not willing to accept our decisions. Beyond that, Doctor Beckett blamed himself for the death of our people… of those who didn’t survive the virus.”

“Humans are hopelessly sentimental,” Tyr commented in disgust. “They may declare that the end results justify the means, but they back off most of the times when it comes to determined action.”

The chancellor sighed again. “They have their own set of morale… and we have ours. The two are not always compatible. They will learn, given enough time, that sometimes… sometimes one has to do morally ambiguous things, out of sheer necessity. Or they will perish, if they can’t learn that.”

He knocked on a door on his left, and a friendly, middle-aged female healer came to answer it. Recognizing him, she nodded politely.

“Chancellor… it was time for you to fetch your medicine. We’ve prepared it for you days ago.”

“Unfortunately, my schedule isn’t entirely of my own choosing,” Chancellor Druhin replied, taking from her the small wooden box with the tightly stopped little flasks in it. “Oh, and Mr. Anasazi here would like to see his wife.”

The healer nodded again. “Certainly, Mr. Anasazi,” she said. “Please, do come in. Your wife is fine; it was just a temporary dizziness.”

“I’ll leave you to your own devices, then,” the chancellor said. “I’m sure you have family matters to discuss. I’ll see you after the Council meeting again.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
The young aide led Harper into a windowless room, deep under the government complex. The room hinted at a technology millennia beyond he’d seen on Hoff so far, with one of its walls consisting of a huge window, beyond which another room could be seen, filled with unknown machinery but with nobody operating said machinery. Perhaps it was out of use… had been for quite a while, most likely.

The large room was abandoned, too. It was dimly lit and almost empty, save for a few wide steps that led to a strange structure which looked like a huge circle, made of some unknown material that could have been either metal or stone, by the look of it. The circle stood in vertical position; however; the lower rim of it seemed to disappear in the room’s tiled floor. It as big enough for a slipfighter to pass through – well, if the pilot was _very_ skilled – so it probably _could_ be seen as a gate, based on the sheer size of it. But basically, it was just a semi-metallic circle, at least for the naked eye. Strange symbols were glittering in a matte greenish light all around it, like on some gigantic clock-face.

“ _That_ ’s a gate?” Harper asked in honest bafflement.

“That’s _the_ Gate,” Turval replied with emphasis.

“And it’s supposed to…” Harper trailed off, because despite wormhole theory being, well, _theoretically_ sound, the whole thing still sounded a bit ridiculous.

“…to take you to other planets, yes,” the young aide finished for him.

“To other planets,” Harper repeated blankly. “That empty ring of steel and flashy lights. You’re pulling my leg, aren’t you?”

“Not at all,” Turval assured him. Not that the Hoffan would have understood the exact meaning of the figure of speech Harper had used, but he thought – correctly – that the stranger was suspecting an elaborate joke. “Those lights… they are actually coordinates of certain places in our galaxy. There are unnumbered combinations for them, or so I’m told, and many of those combinations represent a code that connects our Gate to another one on a different planet. Six symbols appoint a location – the destination of the journey – while the seventh represents the starting point: this place, where we are.”

Harper nodded. That actually made sense – in theory, at least. One needed six coordinates to confirm the location of a certain point in three-dimensional space. The practice, however, was an entirely different thing. “I think I can see now how you navigate,” he said, “and I understand the scientific theory behind wormhole travel. It’s a known one where I come from, although we haven’t managed to make it work in practice so far. But how do you choose the symbols? Not manually, I guess.”

“Of course not,” Turval said. “We have a device… do you want to see it?”

“If I wanna see it?” Harper glared at him in disbelief. “Are you kidding, man? _Of course_ I wanna see it!”

“Come with me, then,” the young man said. “The device is in the other room.”

The _device_ was a circular console, about the height and the size of a small table, but it seemed massive, and was apparently made of the same semi-metallic substance as the Gate itself. Upon its surface, there were large, flat, slightly trapezoid-shaped keys, bearing the same symbols that were glittering all around the Gate.

“Man!” Harper said in awe. “This is so cool! And it really works?”

“It works,” Turval assured him. “I’ve gone through the Gate myself, several times – it’s a strange feeling, but it’s not unpleasant. We don’t really understand _how_ it works, but the important thing is that it _does_ work… and it enables us to travel to other planets, even though we don’t have spaceships.”

“I don’t suppose I could see it when it opens, could I?” Harper asked tentatively, but he wasn’t really surprised as Turval shook his head in apology.

“Not without the express authorization of the Council, I’m afraid,” he said.

“No prob,” Harper said, “I know what confidential technology is. Perhaps later, when we know each other a little better,” but he let his fingers glide over the keys wistfully, not pushing any of them, just getting a feeling of the smooth, strangely cool material. By the time the Hoffans decided to trust them, he might not be around to give the Gate a try.

The keys lit up under his touch like a firework.

“What was _that_?” he demanded, snatching his hand back, as if it had been burned. 

Turval shrugged. “No need to worry,” he said. “The device reacts to some people that way. It’s a rare thing, but completely harmless; and it doesn’t influence the working of the device in any way, as far as we can tell.”

“Well, I dunno,” Harper eyed the console warily. Fooling around things left behind by a much more advanced race wasn’t a wise thing, in his opinion. At least as long as he hadn’t found out what made those things tick. “I’ll better _not_ touch anything else here.”

“It’s probably for the best,” Turval agreed, relieved that he wouldn’t have to prohibit it. “I’ll escort you back to the lab, then. Engineer Draal can tell you more about the gate, if you have any further questions. He’s the one who keeps a list of working Gate addresses and has descriptions of the planets our people have already visited. I’m sure you’ll find it interesting.”

“Cool,” Harper said and jogged after him, back to the engineers’ lab.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
“Really, Tyr, you have no reason to be concerned,” Freya smiled up from the examination bed at her husband. “I am fine; and so is our son. We are both fine.”

“Our _son_?” Tyr’s eyes lit up in excitement. “You had the in-vitro scanning done? And it is conclusive already?”

Freya nodded. “I thought we would better do it here than aboard the _Andromeda_ ,” she said. “This is a simple enough examination, and the healers here are very good at learning to deal with medical equipment.”

“You have lifted the scanner from the medical deck?” Tyr grinned. “I bet Trance will be… displeased when she realizes that they are gone.”

“I do not care,” Freya replied coldly. “I wanted a reliable examination, and I do not trust that creature to give me one. And while we are at it, I want _you_ to be tested, too.”

“What for?” Tyr asked with a frown.

“I want to know what Trance has really done to you when cleaning you from the Magog infection,” Freya said grimly. “I want to know if there was any lasting damage from that rather… unorthodox treatment you have received.”

“There was none,” Tyr said. “I am every bit as healthy as I was before.”

“Or so Trance says,” Freya corrected. “I would like to see the proof for it. These healers can do the tests; and they are generally good at genetics.”

Tyr shook his head. “This is ridiculous, Freya!”

“And I will readily laugh with you, once it has been proven that I was wrong,” Freya said; then she switched to the formal mode of conversation: the one Nietzscheans only used when the most important alliances and treaties were negotiated, and added. “I insist that these tests be made, Husband. This is _not_ negotiable.”

“You truly believe that Trance would deliberately harm me?” Tyr asked doubtfully. He would trust everyone with the worst possible intentions on principle, but he couldn’t see why Trance would want to harm you in the first place.

“I would not put it beyond that creature,” Freya said. “But even if the damage was not deliberate – do you think it would admit that it has damaged you by accident? Well, I do not.”

Neither did Tyr, actually. But even if he did, he’d have no choice but allow the tests to be made. Contrary to common belief, in Nietzschean society the women were the ones who made the important decisions, at least as far as family matters were concerned. There was no higher authority in a Pride than that of the Matriarch. Even if said Pride currently only consisted of two people and an unborn baby.

“Very well,” Tyr said. “But whatever the results may be, I do not want them to leave this room.”

“You don’t have to worry, sir,” the healer said. “This all falls under healer-patient confidentiality. We’ve all sworn an oath here. Now, if you would sit down here and give me your arm…”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Aboard the _Andromeda Ascendant_ , Radiance of Wisdom had finished the next round of her scans and was now checking the results. At first, it seemed that there would be no different readings than before, but then…

“Interesting,” she murmured. “Andromeda, can you scan this particular area in more detail?” She gave the coordinates, and Andromeda repeated the scan, this time in a more detailed version, aimed the small area the Sapphire Than had requested.

“Interesting indeed,” the hologram version of the AI blinked into life at the blue bug’s elbow. “An artificial structure. The first that we’ve found so far. I think Dylan will find it interesting, too.

She was soon proved right. Dylan Hunt did find that particular piece of news interesting.

“What kind of structure is it?” he asked. “A ship? A drift?”

“It’s too small for a drift,” the Sapphire Than replied, “but it’s stationary, so it can’t be a ship, either. A satellite, perhaps… and an enormous one at that, floating in deep space. It is located at a Lagrangian point and is either an orbital habitat or some sort of defence mechanism, I believe. From this distance, it can’t be determined what purpose it might serve – or for whom.”

“ _What_ point?” Dylan frowned. He wasn’t stupid, but astronomical terms had never been his forte. 

“Lagrangian points are actually positions, in a given orbital configuration, where a small object affected only by gravity can theoretically stay stationary relative to two larger objects,” Rommie answered instead of the Sapphire Than, quoting directly from her own astronomy database. “A good example for that used to be the L-5 space station in Earth’s orbit that, if our universes continue a more or less parallel development, will be built in about forty years from now. The Lagrange points mark positions where the combined gravitational pull of the two large masses provides precisely the centripetal force required to rotate with them. They are analogous to geosynchronous orbits in that they allow an object to be in a ‘fixed’ position in space rather than an orbit in which its relative position changes continuously. They are named after a human mathematician who lived some three hundred years ago.”

“I assume you are counting back from the century in which we’ve managed to land, not the one we are coming from,” Radiance of Wisdom sad. Rommie nodded.

“Of course, Wisdom. Otherwise he would have lived in Dylan’s original time. And mine.” She glanced at the viewscreen. “Whoever the builders of that satellite are, they’ve apparently managed to develop space-faring technology, despite the Wraith. That would make them much more promising allies than a primitive, pre-industrial world like Hoff could be.”

“Could we possibly have found the Earth people we’ve been looking for?” Hunt asked.

“That’s unlikely,” Rommie replied. “According to Chancellor Druhin, those humans weren’t technically advanced enough to build something like this.”

“Assuming that Chancellor Druhin has told us the truth,” the Sapphire Than commented. “Or that those humans had told _him_ the truth. There are too many unknown factors to rely on second-hand information.”

“Agreed,” Dylan said. “We should definitely take a look.”

“Shall I plot a course?” the AI offered from one of the other viewscreens. “It is relatively close, we won’t even have to go into slipstream – which I would avoid, if possible, in an unmapped galaxy like this.”

Dylan hesitated for a moment. The thought to move on and investigate at once was tempting, but…

“No,” he said. “We can’t leave without the others. At the very least, we would need Tyr and Harper. We can’t know if there’s someone still at home on that satellite – and how they would react to unexpected visitors.”

“I’d be feeling better with my engineer on board, too,” the AI admitted. “But we still don’t have radio contact with them. You should send the _Maru_ to bring them back.”

“That’s the plan,” Dylan said. “Although Beka probably won’t like it.”

“She hates planets,” Trance chirped. “And she especially hates weather.” As Dylan had been playing basketball in the hydroponics garden when he Sapphire Than arrived with the news, she’d heard everything, of course.

“That wasn’t what I meant,” Dylan replied. “I’m sending Rommie, to prevent further communications problems.”

“Ah,” Trance nodded in understanding. “She hates to lend her ship to other pilots, too.”

“I can’t respect that right now, I’m afraid,” Dylan said. “We need Tyr and Harper back. The others can stay on that prehistoric mudball and play babysitter to the Hoffans for all that I care.”

“Do you really expect Tyr to leave his wife and his unborn child behind?” the AI asked with an elegantly arched eyebrow.

Dylan shrugged. “It’s up to him. Rommie, go down to the hangar while I clear things with Beka. I want you to start as soon as the pre-flight check-up is done.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
In the council chamber of the Hoffan government complex, Chancellor Druhin was meeting his advisors. Once again, he keenly felt the lack of a proper ruling body. Before the administering of the virus – which act, or, to be more accurate, the consequences of which – had turned their entire society inside out, the Council had used to have nine chancellors. Druhin had been the Head Chancellor, but that only meant that he’d led the Council meetings and acted as the nominal head of the state whenever they had dealt with the representatives of foreign worlds. In all other things the chancellors had been equals; their number kept consciously uneven, so that it wouldn’t come to fruitless deadlocks at the meetings. They had been legally elected for lifetime… which could be a rather short term sometimes, under the constant Wraith threat.

Every chancellor had chosen a circle of trusted advisors, and in case of an untimely death, the successor had been chosen from that trusted circle. Consequently, a society of originally about eight million people had been lead by a ruling body of nine, supported by thirty-six advisors altogether. It had been a time-honoured system that had served the Hoffan people excellently for as long as written records reached back.

The death of roughly half the population had changed everything. For starters, the virus had been particularly merciless to the ruling body. From the chancellors, only Druhin survived – because he had not been allowed to receive the inoculation. Partly because of his weak heart, partly because the others insisted that at least one of them should hold back. Their society needed at least one survivor from the government, or else they’d have been drowned in chaos in the aftermath.

This proved to be a wise precaution when all the others died, but it also led to the fact that Chancellor Druhin was now the only Hoffan – save from the various rebel groups – who was _not_ immune against the Wraith. The irony of the whole situation was not completely lost on him.

Some of the advisors survived, albeit only one from his own personal circle: Salia Boulee, a woman of roughly his own age, with whom he’d worked for decades. All in all, there were sixteen of them with some government experience. Sixteen men and women to rule the fate of almost four million people; to deal with the rebels, to reshape their society after the deep shock of losing so many… and to find a way to build up a working defence against the Wraith.

Because the Athosian woman, the one accompanying the Earth people, had been right. Should the Wraith learn that the Hoffans had developed something akin a biological weapon against them, they’d wipe Hoff clean all of its inhabitants.

And for that very reason they couldn’t afford to be lenient towards the Purists and other such fanatics. They all knew that. But it was a very hard decision to make.

“News about the arresting of the Purists have already reached wide circles of the population,” Salia Boulee said. She looked just as exhausted and worried as Druhin himself, with the additional lingering sadness about having lost her entire family to the virus.

Druhin nodded. “That was to be expected. We can’t arrest dozens of people and transport several dead bodies after a firefight without drawing attention. But that’s all right. Our people have the right to know the truth. I doubt that we’d have to defend our actions in their eyes.”

“On the contrary,” Chief Orum Dirige, the head of the militia, replied. “There have already been spontaneous gatherings in front of the government building, demanding the capital punishment for the Purists. Can’t say that I blame them.”

“Neither do I,” Salina Boulee replied. “But how much better would _we_ be than the Purists if we had them executed? Besides, who would do it? Are you ready to order your men to shoot at them, Chief?”

“They have done so repeatedly in recent times,” Dirige said with a shrug.

“No,” she corrected. “They have shot at people who were well able and more than willing to shoot back and kill them. That was a _fight_. Execution is a very different matter.”

“What would you suggest then?” Druhin asked. Salia was the most experienced and measured person in the entire body of his advisors. He hoped she’d have something useful to say.

“The obvious solution,” she replied. “We should send them into exile. Preferably to a planet that had been destroyed by the Wraith, so that they can’t spread any news about Hoff.”

“But if we leave them on a planet with a Stargate, uninhabited though it may be, what can prevent them to escape through the Gate?” Dirige asked.

“Or to come back and sabotage _our_ Gate?” Haree Seldon, one of the newly chosen, younger advisors, added grimly.

“The Gates can only operate with the help of a symbol-choosing device,” Varria Kalosh, another female advisor and an engineer by trade, said thoughtfully. “If we destroyed the device before passing the gate back home, they couldn’t go anywhere.”

“Neither could the people who destroy the device,” Dirige commented dryly. 

Varria Kalosh shook her head. “Not necessarily,” she said. “Once the Gate is opened, it stays open for about half a cycle.”

“With a _functioning_ device,” Dirige reminded her. 

She nodded. “That is true. But it takes several seconds for the Gate to shut down, after the device has been switched off. A well-aimed shot at the device on the other planet, and the soldier would still have enough time to jump through the Gate.”

“That sounds convincing,” Chancellor Druhin said.

“There’s only one problem,” Dirige replied. “We don’t have any weapon powerful enough to take off such a device with only one shot. Or two. Or three, for that matter.”

“No,” we don’t,” the engineer agreed. “But our new allies might.”

“Or they could transport the Purists to a planet _without_ a Stargate,” Salia Boulee added. “They’ve got a _starship_ – and a big one, according to our observatory. They must have holding cells on it.”

“But we can’t find a planet suitable for sustaining life without the help of the Gate,” Haree Seldon pointed out logically.

“We can’t,” Varria Kalosh admitted, “but _they_ can. A starship must have sensors… life detectors… that sort of thing.”

“It’s possible,” Dirige allowed. “But would they be willing to help us?”

“I don’t know,” the chancellor answered with a sigh. “Were Mr. Anasazi in command of the starship, I would be more optimistic – he’s a reasonable man, as long as it serves his own interests. But this Captain Hunt seems to be the same self-righteous sort as Major Sheppard and his friends have been. I don’t think we could count on his help, no.”

“In that case,” Dirige said, “we have no other choice than to bring the Purists to a planet _with_ a Stargate… and hope that Mr. Anasazi can help us to destroy the device.”

“At least he wouldn’t have problems with getting involved,” the chancellor agreed, "if I can give him a reason to do so. In the meantime, Chief, we should send out units to the planets known as uninhabited, to see if they are still abandoned. It would do no good to send the Purists right into the open arms of the Wraith. Their knowledge could mean grave danger for us.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
“So, Mr. Anasazi,” the Hoffan healer said, coming over from the genetic research lab, “your results have arrived. They are… somewhat unusual.”

“Unusual in what way?” Tyr asked. “Nietzscheans are unusual as a whole, if compared with ordinary humans. We are a race created by centuries of genetic enhancement and selective breeding.”

“Yes, yes, I have heard the laudatio of Paul Museveni from your wife already,” the healer replied wryly. “But that’s not the kind of unusual that I meant. I’ve compared your genetic make-up with that of your wife and your unborn child, and there are… anomalies.”

“What do you mean with anomalies?” Tyr demanded, trying to stay calm. As a rule, Nietzscheans didn’t panic easily, but the mere thought of genetic damage was enough to overthrow their inner balance.

“I’m not sure,” the healer said thoughtfully. “I’d like to have more time for a thorough mapping of your genetic sequence. But certain signs make me assume that there still is some alien genetic material in your system. There are traces that can’t be found by your wife – _or_ your son.”

“You mean I have Magog DNA in me?” Tyr asked, fighting back a sudden wave of nausea.

“I can’t tell,” the healer answered. “I have never seen anything like it. I’ll need a sample to compare with your results to say whether it’s Magog genetic material or not. But those traces definitely don’t belong to your genetic make-up. Fortunately, they’re inactive – at least for a moment.”

“But they could become active again?” Tyr envisioned the Magog larvae growing back in his intestines and tried very hard _not_ to panic.

“Again, I don’t know,” the healer said. “I’ll have to study them some more, to map you genetic sequence, and, as I said, I’ll need a genetic sample from those Magog to compare. But I’m afraid I have more unpleasant news for you.”

“What else can there be?” Tyr asked tonelessly.

“Your wife told me that your entire system had been flooded with hard radiation to kill those parasites inside you, correct?” the healer asked.

Tyr nodded. “And with industrial strength poison, yes. It worked… well, it seemed to work back then, although I’m getting doubts.”

“Unfortunately, it has also rendered you infertile,” the healer said. “If that’s only a temporary setback or a permanent damage, I can’t tell. Not without further tests. I’m very sorry for you both.”

For some time, both Nietzscheans were mute and frozen with shock. After a few endless minutes, Tyr finally stirred.

“I will kill her,” he said with an eerie calm. “Slowly and very, _very_ painfully.”

“No, Husband,” Freya said icily, “ _I will_. But not right away. I will not allow it to die in the faith that it has managed to destroy you.”

“I still fail to understand why she would do that,” Tyr murmured.

“The creature can sometimes see the future,” Freya pointed out. “Perhaps it has seen something in _your_ future that would disturb its own plans, whatever those might be. I do believe that at first we should try to undo the damage done to you.” She looked at the healer. “Can you be of assistance?”

The healer thought about it for a while.

“I can give him a fertility treatment we’ve achieved good results with in recent times,” she finally said, “but I can’t promise that it would work the same way on a Nietzschean. There are no guarantees. As for the genetic damage… that’s beyond my usual field of work. I can consult our best geneticist, of course – I _will_ consult her, in fact. But I only know one healer who could help you with more or less certainty: Doctor Carson Beckett.”


	9. Negotiations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta read by erinnyes, thanks.

**CHAPTER 08 – NEGOTIATIONS**

“I must apologize, my First,” Tyr said half an hour later, when he and Freya had returned to their guest quarters within the government complex. “You have been right, all the time, where Trance is concerned. I allowed her to deceive me with her annoyingly cheerful act. I could not believe that she would be truly dangerous. This is _not_ a mistake that I intend to repeat.”

“You are forgiven, husband mine,” Freya replied, kissing his bare shoulder. “Try to see the positive side of the events. If the creature wanted to prevent your destiny to come true so badly, it must be a great one.”

“That would do me no good, if we cannot reverse the effects of her so-called treatment,” Tyr said glumly.

“Which is why we need to find that Carson Beckett person,” Freya replied. “If he is half as good as the Hoffans think him to be, he will be able to help you.”

“I wish I could be so certain.” Tyr was too shaken to hide it. Becoming genetically damaged and infertile was the worst nightmare of a Nietzschean Alpha; especially of one on whose fertility the survival of his entire Pride depended. “You have seen the damage; it would require a top Perseid geneticist to repair it. And I am supposed to put my hopes into some _kludge_ doctor whose knowledge is three thousand years outdated in our own time?”

Neither of them had studied medicine, but Nietzscheans usually understood a great deal about genetics. Watching over their genes and perfecting them in any way they could was their way of life, after all.

“But we are _not_ in our own time,” Freya reminded him. “In our own time, Earth has never had contact with those Old Ones, whoever they might be. Or with the Pegasus galaxy. Things can be very different here. _Kludges_ can be very different. And this particular _kludge_ has already proven his talent.”

Tyr sighed and shook his head. “I do not know, Freya. Perhaps you should start looking for a worthier husband; one that can give you children. I am damaged. Kodiak Pride is gone but for our son. You should look out for better choices… for yourself and for him.”

“And I might, if I am absolutely certain that there is no other way,” Freya said calmly, and Tyr know that she indeed would. Nietzschean women were supremely… _practical_ when it came to the good of their families. “But I am not there yet… and I still hope that it will not be necessary.”

“Hope is an emotion as foolish and wasted as regret,” Tyr said.

“Only if there is no solid chance for fulfilment,” Freya riposted. “Giving up before we have tried anything to bend fate to our own will, on the other hand, is a very inferior attitude, Husband. An attitude that I will _not_ tolerate. Now, stop feeling sorry for yourself and let us plan how we are going to work on this problem.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Captain Hunt decided in the last moment to go down to Hoff with the _Maru_ , after all, leaving the _Andromeda_ under Beka’s command. He did it only reluctantly, because since Beka’s last, Flash-induced stunt to kidnap his ship (fuelled by the best intentions, of course, but that was beside the point) left him permanently worried what Beka might do in any unmonitored moment. But he also knew that Tyr, and even Harper, given the right circumstances, would simply ignore Rommie’s orders to bring them back to the _Andromeda_ , if they found that what they were doing on Hoff was more important. They would respect _his_ authority face-to-face, though.

Or so he hoped.

He put down the _Maru_ on the same spot where Beka had parked it previously, and saw with some hidden relief that at least the slipfighter was still there. His errant crewmembers hadn’t left the planet yet. Well, that was _something_. He wasn’t surprised to see a militia unit waiting for them, either. For a ‘primitive, pre-industrial world’, as Radiance of Wisdom had called the place, the Hoffans had some pretty nifty tools.

To their surprise, the streets seemed less abandoned than the first time they’d been down on the planet. Here and there people were standing in small groups of fours or fives, having animated discussions in their own tongue. In front of the government complex there was a small crowd – and a fairly agitated one at that. The people were shouting, shaking their fists, red-faced and clearly very, very angry.

“Demonstrations against the government?” Dylan asked, trying to hide his smug satisfaction that people apparently weren’t as content with the drastic measures taken against the Wraith as Chancellor Druhin had wanted to make him believe.

The leader of the militia unit gave him a bewildered look, as if he’d asked something eminently stupid.

“On the contrary,” he replied. “The are demanding that the recently arrested rebels be executed.”

“They want the opposition executed?” Dylan was shocked by the thought.

The officer shrugged. “I don’t blame them. Those people would betray us to the Wraith in a second; they’re worse than vermin.”

“A democratic society should allow the opposition to express their opinion,” Dylan replied stiffly.

The officer gave him another exasperated look. “Those are criminals, Captain,” he tried to explain. “We can’t allow a small minority to cause the complete destruction of the greater part of our people. There are few enough of us left as it is”

Dylan didn’t like this line of thought but he found it better _not_ to argue, at least not for the moment. Perhaps if he could find an opportunity to talk to the chancellor alone, he’d be able to speak on the opposition’s behalf. It was unacceptable that the Hoffans would execute those people, just because they _might_ betray them to the Wraith. He’d not watch it without protest.

The chancellor now appeared on the building’s only balcony to try placating his people. He spoke in the local tongue, but the special nanobots Dylan had asked Rommie for had sufficiently processed the Hoffan language by now, so that he was able to understand the chancellor with relative ease.

“My fellow citizens,” Druhin was saying, “I ask you to stay calm and to return to your work and your homes. I give you my word that the rebels will be punished as they deserve… and they will never have the chance to harm us again. You know me. You know I’ve never lied to you. I won’t begin to tell you lies now.”

“The Purists are murderers!” someone from the crowd cried. “They don’t deserve to live – not even in exile!”

“Perhaps so,” the chancellor answered, “but let me ask you this, friend: would we not be murderers, too, if we had them executed?”

“It’s not the same,” someone else riposted.

“Death is death,” the chancellor stated calmly. “We who are alive now have paid for our survival with the lives of those who have died. That is enough blood on our hands. We don’t need to add more.”

“We’ve all volunteered!” an elderly woman shouted.

“And you were fortunate,” Druhin said. “You could lie in one of those four million graves… as could I. The Council – or what’s left of it – does not want more Hoffan blood spilled because of the Wraith. And besides, living in exile, with no hope to return, can be a harder fate than a quick death. The council will see to find a place for them where life will be unpleasant, so that it _would_ feel like punishment to them.”

“You promise?” the woman asked, the echo of too many tears in her harsh voice. “I’ve lost all my family to the virus. I don’t want it to be in vain, just because of a bunch of dirty, treacherous Wraith-worshippers.”

The chancellor nodded. “I promise, Fail Innis. All these people present may be my witnesses. The Purists will be dealt with, according to the law. Now, go home, friends, and use your strength to rebuild our world. We still have a long way to go.”

Dylan didn’t really expect the Hoffans to obey; after all, the chancellor hadn’t actually told them what he intended to do with these Purists, whoever they were. To his surprise, however, after some initial murmuring, the crowd slowly broke up, people milling out into every direction.

“The chancellor does have a way with people,” Rommie commented.

The militia officer shrugged again. “He’s held the office for sixteen years by now,” he answered, “and he’s always led us well. People have every reason to trust him.”

In Dylan’s opinion, giving the go to a high-risk medical experiment that had resulted in the death of half the planet’s population wasn’t exactly the sign of stellar leadership abilities, but he doubted the Hoffans would share his opinion. The entire planet was clearly delusional and deaf to reason. So he waited patiently till the entire crowd was gone and the militia escorted him and Rommie to Chancellor Druhin.

The chancellor greeted them in his customary polite manner.

“Captain Hunt! It’s good to see you again. I regret that you had to witness that unfortunate scene. Tempers are running a bit high at the moment, I’m afraid.”

“That seems an understatement to me,” Dylan replied. “I’ve visited hundreds of planets in my time, but I’ve never seen a government representative having to placate the people who demonstrated to support him.”

“The people have every right to be upset,” the chancellor said tiredly. “We’ve sacrificed half the planet to free ourselves from the Wraith; we cannot allow their sacrifice to become pointless because of a few collaborators. The price was too high for that.”

“They seem determined enough to see those people dead,” Dylan commented. “Yet you refused to have them executed. Why?”

“Our people are upset,” Druhin answered, “but in their core, they’re good, decent people. They’d hate themselves for the execution once they’ve calmed down, and that would be self-destructive. We’ve a hard enough time to fight survival guilt as it is. But let’s not discuss our internal troubles, Captain; it’s such a joyless topic. What has led you to us this time?”

“I need to speak with my crew,” Dylan said. He didn’t want to show his hand just yet. “We might have found a trace of these Earth people, and that means I’ll need my engineer and my weapons control officer back, at least temporarily.”

The chancellor nodded. “Certainly, Captain. We don’t want to interfere with the smooth running of your ship. I’ll send for your people at once. You can use the lesser Council chamber to confer with them… it’s been out of use for quite some time.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Dylan had expected Tyr to argue against investigating a satellite of unknown origins. After all, the Nietzschean survival instinct usually motivated Tyr to speak up against such adventures with an uncertain outcome. He’d expected the Perseids to be ecstatic about the chance to take apart a piece of advanced alien technology, to see what makes it tick. Instead, Tyr simply nodded, saying that he’d inform his wife, so that she’d have time to pack her things. The Perseids politely refused going with him, saying that their help was needed on Hoff, so they’d only rejoin the crew when it was certain that they’d found a way back. And Harper…

“I’m not going,” Harper declared.

Tyr glared at him with a frown. “What do you mean you are not going, boy?”

“I mean I’m _not_ going with you,” Harper clarified, glaring back at him defiantly. “Something happened to that superior _Über_ hearing of yours?”

“Harper, you cannot be serious,” Rommie said. Harper gave her an angry glare.

“Why not?” he asked. “I like it here. Nobody treats me like shit just because I’m an unmodified little mudfoot from a backward planet. Nobody threatens me. People are actually nice to me and value my help. What could you possibly offer me to leave this nice, clean, friendly planet, huh?”

“You’ll be bored to death in no time here,” Dylan said. “These people are barely out of the pre-industrial phase.”

“I’ll _be_ dead in no time, so it’s a moot point,” Harper replied. “Or do you think the grubs in there are gonna wait much longer to hatch?”

To demonstrate his meaning, he lifted the hem of his ridiculously coloured shirt for a moment, allowing them a brief glimpse at his abdomen. It seemed slightly swollen, like some morbid mirror image of pregnancy, and netted with discoloured splotches. The sight muted the others for a moment, and Harper nodded in grim satisfaction.

“You see, people, the Harper won’t be around to work miracles for ever,” he said simply. “And since I’ll have to leave the scene soon anyway, I’d like to do it somewhere that feels… that feels like home. Or what home should have been, if not for the Magog and the _Über_ slavers.”

“You _must_ come with us,” Rommie said. “You would endanger these people if…”

“…if the kids decide to come forth to play,” Harper finished for her. “Nah, Rom-doll, I won’t. These people have _soldiers_. Anyone can be taught to pull the trigger of a gauss pistol. And they’re pragmatic enough to do so, despite what they might feel for my sunny personality. After all, they’ve offed half the planet to save the other half.”

“But I need you!” Rommie protested. “You’re my only engineer, and the rough ride through the slipstream that brought us here has damaged me… my ship-self, I mean.”

“Nah,” Harper shook his head. “There’s a lot of damage, true, but nothing so serious that the brown bugs won’t be able to deal with. I’m tired, Rommie. What little time I have left, I’d prefer to spend among fellow humans. Mudfoots like me. Even if they gonna have to kill me in the end, in order to prevent becoming Magog food.”

“You should come with us, boy,” Tyr said. “If we find that Earth doctor, he might be able to help you.”

Harper laughed humourlessly. “Are you kidding? _Trance_ wasn’t able to help me, and she had Rommie’s entire database at her disposal! What could a mere human do?”

“He was able to create a Wraith-repelling virus,” Tyr reminded him calmly. “Something most people had not thought to be possible, either. He might surprise you.”

That made Harper think for a moment. He didn’t want to die, not now when they’d found a world so close to what Earth could have been without man-eating monsters and Drago-Kazov overlords. If there were a way to get rid of his larvae, even a painful one… he could deal with pain. All Earth-born humans were good at it, out of sheer necessity.”

“And if he can’t do a thing about them?” he asked quietly.

“Then I’ll fulfil my promise to you,” Tyr replied simply. “But you should not give up as long as there is the slightest chance for survival.”

“Survival,” Harper repeated with a mirthless grin. “I know a great deal about survival, Tyr; probably more than any Niet I’ve come across, with the possible exception of yourself. I know when it’s a real chance – _this_ is not the case.”

“You cannot be certain,” Tyr answered. “And as long as there _is_ a chance, however slim it might be, you owe yourself to grab it.”

Harper shot him a funny look. “What’s your game, Tyr?” he asked. “Don’t tell me that you’re concerned about the survival of an insignificant little _kludge_. That would be decidedly un-Nietzschean from you.”

“I am concerned about my own survival, and that of my family,” Tyr scowled. “I see more assurance toward it with you in the machine shop than all those brown bugs. Are you happy now?”

Unexpectedly, Harper broke into a broad grin. “You know, Tyr, you’re funny when you try to look worse and more callous than you already are…which is bad enough,” he said. “But since we seem to be such good buddies in these days, I’ll make this one last trip with you, guys – just to make Tyr happy.”

That breezy statement brought a disgusted scowl onto Tyr’s face, but Harper just kept grinning and went to collect his tool belt.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Chancellor Druhin was not happy to hear that the _Andromeda_ was going to leave Hoffan orbit. He’d obviously considered the great warship’s continued presence as a layer of protection against visiting Wraith hive ships – and a potential means to transport the Purists to a planet that had no Stargate, from where they would have no chance to return.

“Our militia units are currently surveying planets via Gate travel,” he explained, having realized that he wouldn’t be able to keep the existence of the Stargate hidden from Dylan if he wanted any help from him, “but we don’t have the means to destroy the operating device of the Gate and thus prevent the exiles’ escape. Not to mention that it wouldn’t shut the Gate down permanently. It could still be opened from the outside, and innocent Gate travellers could be trapped on the planet as well.”

After having listened to the excited explanations of Harper and the Perseids, Dylan had already got the picture concerning the Stargate. Not hat he’d be able to understand the technology that made it work – not even the Perseids seemed to have a clue _how_ the Gate builders had managed to channel that much energy and build up a stable wormhole – but as the Hoffan practice clearly showed, no deeper understanding was required to _operate_ it. This was a completely unique and eminently practical way of space travel, even though limited to planets that already _had_ a corresponding Stargate, as nobody in the Pegasus galaxy seemed to have the faintest idea how to build a new one.

Dylan was duly impressed by the unknown technology that made such travel possible in the first place, and he regretted that the Gate builders apparently weren’t in residence anywhere in the Pegasus galaxy any longer. With their knowledge and technical advancement, they might have been the only ones that could have helped the _Andromeda_ to return home.

Which didn’t mean that he was willing to play mobile jailor for the Hoffan opposition. He told so, in no uncertain terms. The chancellor sighed.

“It is your decision, Captain,” he said with something strangely akin to pity in his tired voice. “You’ll learn, in time, that under the shadow of the Wraith threat one sometimes has to make harsh decisions, for the good of the many. We’ll have to send our exiles to a planet with a Gate, then. It’s a much greater risk, but it seems that we have no other choice.”

“Hey, wait a minute!” Harper interrupted. “You’re gonna open the Gate, soon? Can I watch? Turval said I’d need the Council’s permission for that, but you pretty much _are_ the Council in these days, aren’t you?”

“Unfortunately, that’s correct,” the chancellor replied.

Harper’s ears perked up. “Oooh. Can I watch? Oh, man, that would be so cool!”

The chancellor smiled tiredly. “Since you’ve already seen our Gate, I don’t see why you shouldn’t be allowed to do so. Going _through_ the Gate, on the other hand…”

“Never mind, I don’t think it would be such a good idea anyway,” Harper glanced down at his abdomen. “Who knows how the kids would react to wormhole travel… we shouldn’t take that kind of risk.”

“That’s a wise precaution,” the chancellor agreed. “I’m glad that you’re such a reasonable person, Mr. Harper.”

Tyr’s face went suddenly as blank as only that of a Nietzschean hiding his amusement could be. _Reasonable_ would be the last word he’d apply to Harper, but apparently, the Hoffans had different standards. Dylan hurriedly suppressed a very undiplomatic guffaw.

“Would we given the chance to see that Gate of yours, too?” he asked, partly to hide his somewhat… inappropriate reaction (one didn’t make fun of one’s own crew, at least not according to the behaviour code of the High Guard), but also out of true curiosity.

The chancellor raised an ironic eyebrow. “Considering that you’ve flat out refused to help us with our exiles, I’m surprised that you’d ask for favours, Captain,” he replied coolly. “I’m afraid I’ll have to refuse. Mr. Harper and the Perseid gentlemen are welcome to witness Gate operation, and I’m considering making allowances to Mr. Anasazi, since he’s been a great help, but that’s as far as I’m willing to go for the time being.”

The blunt answer made Dylan flush with anger, but there wasn’t much that he could do. This was the Hoffans’ planet, and so was the choice with whom they would share their secrets. So he simply had to wait for the return of his crewmen from their Gate-watching trip under the watchful eyes of two uniformed militia members. Not that the soldiers would really be a challenge for him (and even less so for Rommie), had he wanted to leave, but there was no need to antagonize the locals, unless it was necessary.

Which it was not. Not at the moment anyway.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
When Tyr returned to his temporary quarters to tell Freya about the unexpected turn of events, he was surprised to find there not only the friendly, middle-aged healer, whose name was apparently Rayna Capec, but also a tall, regal-looking Hoffan woman whose skin was almost as dark as his own. It surprised him, as Hoffans generally seemed to be fair-skinned and rather on the blond side.

“This is our head geneticist, Liave Kassai,” the healer introduced her. “She has expressed her interest to join the crew of your ship.”

“Actually, I’m only the second-best,” the lady geneticist said in a low, surprisingly deep voice. “I’ve never had Perna’s intuition; all I know I’ve learned. And I’d like to learn new things.”

Tyr eyed her in surprise. She was nearly as tall as him, of a proudly erect bearing, and she seemed athletic, too. Aside from that, she couldn’t be older than thirty. Perhaps even less.

“You seem fairly young to be an experienced scientist already,” he said in the casual mode. It was a simple comment, without the intention to doubt her abilities, and was understood as such.

“It’s an old custom to instruct gifted children in scientific disciplines from a very young age,’ the healer explained. “That enabled our researchers to work for quite a few years, even in case of a… an unfortunate Wraith encounter.”

Which would have taken decades from their lives, even if, by some miracle, they survived. Tyr understood. It was an excellent tactic, actually. The strong will of these people to survive amazed him anew.

“And why are most of your researchers female?” Freya asked. “Even among the engineers, I have barely seen any males. It’s a fairly unusual thing.”

“It was born out of necessity,” the healer replied. “Men were needed in the militia, to fight the Wraith as well as we could with our simple weapons. Some women did choose to fight, but mostly we’re concerned with other aspects of life."

“However,” the geneticist added, “now that the greatest project of our history has been finished, many of my trade find themselves without a true challenge. Rayna has told me about genetic modifications being practiced widely where you’ve come from. I’d like to study them… and the methods through which they’re exercised. It could help me to find a way to undo the damage that’s been done to you. Just in case that Dr. Beckett won’t want to do anything like that again.”

“I’d like to accompany you as well,” Rayna Capec added. “I could learn a great deal about diseases and their healing on that ship of yours. And it would be better for your wife to have a healer with her who’s already helped deliver hundreds of babies when her time comes.”

“Do you think you would be able to persuade the good captain to allow Hoffan healers aboard the Andromeda?” Freya asked doubtfully. “I would really like them to come with us; I trust them way more than I would trust Trance.”

“That means little, considering that you do not trust Trance at all,” Tyr pointed out. “Not that I blame you, after what happened to me. No need to worry about Captain Hunt, though. He will not be happy, but in the end, he will give in anyway. He needs me, and he knows that.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Nobody was really surprised by the fact that Dylan was decidedly against the idea of taking the Hoffan women with them, scientists and healers though they might be. But nobody had counted on Liave Kasai’s determination that would have put any Nietzschean to shame. And she was in the position, as the head geneticist of the planet, to employ the help of the mightiest and the most influential. Which, in this case, meant Chancellor Druhin in his own august person.

“I must admit that I don’t understand your reluctance, Captain,” the chancellor said reasonably. “You said yourself that you have no medical personnel on your ship, save from one life sciences officer who’s not well herself. Has she ever delivered a baby?”

Dylan shrugged. “I’ve no idea. But she’s very good with people and diseases.”

“Aside from the fact that she failed to realize that I’d picked up the Triangulum Measles a year or so ago,” Harper commented dryly. “If we hadn’t run into you when we did and Rommie hadn’t cured me… well, I won’t be having my current problem,” he finished, a little lamely. “Even Magog can’t breed within a pile of bleached bones.”

“That’s not the point, Mr. Harper,” Dylan replied, clearly annoyed.

“No,” Harper agreed. “The point is that these people offer us _doctors_ – and damn good ones, no matter what they call themselves – and you don’t want to accept the offer because of some nebulous trust issues. I bet if it were you with Magog larvae chewing on your intestines, you wouldn’t be half this picky.”

Dylan rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Magog infestation can’t be cured, unless treated immediately. You know that as well as I do.”

“What I _do_ know,” Harper said slowly, “is that these people are among the best medical scientists this galaxy can offer. They have the knowledge of _generations_ stored. They’ve worked on that Wraith-repelling virus and succeeded – granted, with some outside help, but they were the ones doing the basic work. _And_ they’re willing to take a look at my little problem. It’s possible that they won’t be able to help – things have gone too far already – but at least they’re willing to try. Which is more than I could say about _anyone_ from my own crew.”

Dylan frowned. “I thought you had an agreement with Tyr…”

Harper nodded, his usually so mobile face cold and expressionless. “We’ve got an agreement about my _death_ ,” he said bitterly. “Nobody has ever made any thoughts about my _life_. All of you have accepted that I had a bit of bad luck and hoped that the Rev’s serum would keep me alive a bit longer than usual. Long enough for the brown bugs to learn how to run the machine shop before I’d die an extremely painful and messy death.”

“That’s not true!” Dylan protested. “We’ve searched _Andromeda_ ’s medical database _and_ the All Systems University records…”

“… and found nothing, I know,” Harper interrupted. “Then you leaned back with the satisfaction of a job well done. Sorry, Boss, that’s just not good enough for someone with these disgusting little monsters in his belly. So let me spare you the long argument and put this straight: either the lady doctors come with us, or I won’t go either. Your choice.”

Dylan stared at him in disbelief. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Nope,” Harper shook his head. “The Harper has decided to take his life – well, what’s left of it – into his own hands, since nobody else seems to care. You want my help with the ship, you let the doctors come with us. It’s that simple.”

“But what do you need them for?” Dylan asked in honest bewilderment. “You’ve got Trance to take care of you.”

“That was what I thought,” Harper replied, “but the sad truth is, she hasn’t moved a finger to find a cure so far. Whether because she’s not well or because she doesn’t want to, I don’t know… and frankly, I don’t care. I’m changing doctors, and that’s final.”

“I thought the two of you were friends,” Dylan said.

“Me, too,” Harper answered. “Obviously, I was wrong. She follows her own agenda, whatever that might be, and me… I’m trying to find help elsewhere. If there still _is_ any hope, which I kinda tend to doubt in these days.”

To that Dylan had no reasonable answer to give, and he reluctantly agreed to allow the Hoffan doctors to accompany them – but not without a price. He demanded to be shown the Stargate in exchange.

“If we’re supposed to trust each other, it must be mutual,” he said with a cold smile. “I give your people access to my ship – you give me access to your gate. It’s only proper and just.”

Chancellor Druhin thought about that for a moment.

“ _Limited_ access,” he finally clarified. “You may take a look, and you may accompany our units if there’s a strong reason, but you won’t be allowed to use the Gate as you please. And you must not reveal its location to anyone, not even to our own people. _Especially_ not to our own people.”

“That’s a long story,” Harper said to Dylan _sotto voce_. “I’ll tell you it later.”

Dylan mulled over the possibilities carefully, then he nodded. “It’s an acceptable compromise, Chancellor.”

“I thought you were eager to examine that satellite the ship’s sensors have found,” Tyr commented.

“That can wait a day or two,” Dylan answered. “I want to see that Stargate first… perhaps even try a gate travel. But seeing it… yeah, definitely.”

The chancellor pulled out his pocket watch and gave it a cursory glance. “Well, you can take a look in half an hour,” he said. “That’s when our people are due to return from their most recent trip. Mr. Anasazi, I assume you wish to come as well?”

Tyr was a bit surprised by the offer, after having been denied access not so long ago. But he realized that if the chancellor was going to show _Dylan_ the Stargate, he wasn’t considered an additional risk. After all, he’d been the one to help the Hoffans dealing with their Purist problem.

“Sure, why not?” he answered with a shrug.

“Please follow me then,” the chancellor said.

As they followed him down the endless corridors to the Gate room under the government complex, Tyr managed – with some skill – to end up next to Harper.

“I appreciate your help with getting the doctors aboard,” he said quietly.

The look Harper gave him lacked all the usual emotions the engineer displayed – or, to be more accurate, wore as a protective mask – most of the time. It was the look of the ultimate survivor: hard, desperate and merciless.

“I’m not doing this for you,” he replied.

Tyr nodded. “I realize that. But intentions do not count, only the results. And the results _are_ in my favour.”

“And with your appreciation and six thrones I could buy a beer on _El Dorado Drift_ ,” Harper commented cynically.

“That’s true,” Tyr allowed, “but that’s not the point. You should always accept a compliment – or the expression of gratitude – regardless of the circumstances under which it is given.”

“Geez, Tyr, I never knew you were a philosopher, too,” Harpers’s voice dripped with sarcasm. 

Tyr shrugged. “I am as much a scholar as I am a warrior,” he said. “Knowledge is a weapon in itself; one only a fool would discard.”

“In that case,” Harper said slowly, “you should keep your eyes open when the Hoffans open that gate. Put that eidetic _Über_ memory of yours to good use. You can’t know when we might need what you see.”

Tyr nodded in agreement, and they lengthened their strides to catch up with the others.


	10. Gateway to the Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder: the ability of Pegasus galaxy humans to learn languages really fast is my invention. It serves the simple purpose to make understanding with alien species convincing, without the use of translation devices.  
> Beta read by erinnyes, thanks.

**CHAPTER 09 – GATEWAY TO THE STARS**

For the second time Harper found the Gate room… cave… whatever… even more impressive than at first sight. This time, there were armed militia members in the room, their flintlocks aimed at the great, empty circle, ready to fire. Behind the huge window, two civilians were standing at the strange controls. They wore the usual, old-fashioned, three-piece suits as most Hoffan men, but they _had_ to be technicians… or whatever counted as such on this planet.

The vistors had barely entered the room when the symbols around the great circle started blinking. Some kind of signal seemed to run around the whole thing, and one by one, seven symbols began to glow.

“Inbound traveller,” one of the soldiers barked. “Hold rifles aimed and ready!”

The order surprised Dylan. “I thought your own people were the ones returning,” he said to Druhin.

The chancellor nodded, checking the glowing symbols on the circle with the expert look of a man who’d done so uncounted times. “The address is the correct one, so it should be them,” he replied. “But we don’t know whom they might have run into.”

“Do you always have this… gate under armed guard?” Tyr asked.

“It’s watched all the time,” the chancellor answered, “and a militia unit is standing by in the next room. As we can’t keep the Gate from being opened from the outside, we need to be careful.”

Tyr nodded in appreciation. The Hoffans had developed a survival instinct that almost reached Nietzschean standards. It was only natural, considering that they’d had to live under the Wraith threat for millennia. The really strange fact was that other people had apparently lacked such instincts. It was a typically human weakness, of which the Hoffans have somehow managed to free themselves.

And that was surprising, too. Because foreign galaxy or not, there could be no doubt that the Hoffans were humans. Not just _humanoid_ , but anthropologically the same. Not just the same genus, but also the same species. Tyr was certain about that. As a part of a warrior’s training, every Nietzschean had learned to distinguish different races by their musculature from a very young age on. Many species of their home universe might have appeared human, but there were ways to tell the difference if one could see part of a body. Sometimes there were changes in the direction of joints. Sometimes the alignment of muscles along the spine was different. And there were other differences, too, if one knew where to look for them – but so far, Tyr couldn’t find any of those, not even when watching the young militia soldiers change into uniform.

He hadn’t had the chance to take a closer look at the Hoffan genome yet, but he was reasonably certain that they’d show fewer differences to the original human norm than Nietzscheans of his own time and universe did. Well, save from their newly-won immunity against Wraith feeding, that is. And from their ability to learn foreign languages with an almost alarming speed. Tyr found that this fact raised interesting questions about the origins of the human species – in both universes.

He didn’t have the time to ponder over those questions right now, though, because he suddenly felt a light tremor shake the entire cave. It seemed to come from the empty circle in front of them – perhaps a sign that it was powering up to do whatever it was supposed to do. Harper began to move closer, drawn in irresistibly like a moth by the flame, but Chancellor Druhin extended a hand to keep him from getting too close.

“Keep outside the perimeter,” he warned, gesturing towards the marks painted onto the naked rock floor. “It’s dangerous to get too close to the Gate when it’s about to open.”

He was still speaking when the inside of the empty circle suddenly filled with silvery blue, almost as if it had started raining within, and a vortex of swirling energy lashed out from the middle of it, like the curling tongue of some gigantic lizard, looking for an insect to devour.

“Okay, this is officially weird,” Harper commented, backing off quickly. His face was white with fear and his hands trembled.

“It will take but a moment,” the chancellor assured him, and indeed, at the same moment, the energy vortex fell back into itself, and the middle of the gate became molten silver-blue, like the surface of a still lake. Tiny vibrations shuddered across it, as if touched by a light breeze.

It was a wondrous sight. Even an esteemed cynic like Tyr had to admit that a race that had managed to bound such an astronomical amount of energy into a thing of such exquisite beauty _and_ utter practicality deserved a great deal of admiration. Dylan stared at the open Gate slack-jawed, and Harper… Harper was having a religious experience. Or the closest thing he was capable of having anyway. Only Rommie kept the air of scientific detachment; but again, advanced technology was something a lot closer to home for her than it was for organic beings.

In the next moment, the pond of light kind of… _parted_ , like the curtain of a theatre stage, and a Hoffan militia unit marched through it. Their faces were reddened, sunburnt, actually, and they were sweating profoundly. As soon as the last one of them stepped through the Gate, the energy curtain collapsed and was gone, leaving only the empty circle again.

“Stand down!” the officer on duty barked, and the soldiers lowered their flintlocks. For a society so devoted to science and culture, their militia had a fairly good training, even if their weapons were crap, Tyr found. They must have had outside help with that, as none of their leaders looked like the born military ruler.

Harper, in the meantime, was still staring at the now empty Gate in rapture. “Wow...”he breathed. “That was just… wow… nah, not even I can find the right words to describe how awesome it was…”

“That would be a first,” Tyr commented dryly.

Harper shot him a baleful look; the little engineer had been displaying some pretty swift mood changes lately. “Ha, ha, Mr. Big, Stoic and Unimpressed!” he snapped. “It takes more than ridiculously oversized muscles to appreciate such a fine piece of technology at work. But I won’t hold against you that not everyone can be an instinctive genius like the Harper.”

“The way you keep talking about yourself in third person is disturbing,” Tyr replied with mild annoyance.

Harper shrugged, his usually so cheerful blue eyes glittering with barely suppressed anger. “It’s a habit I won’t change for the short time I’ve left, just to please you,” he answered, snipping any possible retort from Tyr’s side in the bud, because honestly, what could he have replied to _that_?

In the meantime, the commanding officer of the scout party was giving the chancellor a preliminary report. “The planet is not very habitable,” he said. “The soil is fertile and the vegetation lush, but it has two suns and gets extremely hot at daytime. It seems that both the animal and the plant life are nocturnal and spend the day in a dormant state. The animals hide deep underground, and the plants have developed the ability to fold their leafage to prevent evaporation as far as possible.”

“Does it have water at all?” the chancellor asked. “ _Something_ must be keeping those plants alive.”

“We’ve found underground rivers and lakes in deep caves,” the officer replied. “And during the few daytime hours, we’ve experienced four quick tropical showers. The water seems to sink through the soil very quickly, and when we dug out some sort of plants, we found that deep down they have large, leathery bladders held by their roots, capable of storing large amounts of water. We’ve brought back dozens of samples, so that the scientists can check if any of them are edible.”

“Some most likely would be,” the chancellor said. “Those animals must eat something. I’ve never heard of a planet where the entire fauna would be poisonous. And I’ve visited dozens of worlds in my time as a young researcher. So, in your opinion, it is possible to survive there, right?”

The officer nodded. “If one is willing to adapt to nocturnal life, yes, it is. It won’t be an easy life, for sure, but it would be doable.”

“We don’t want to make it easy for our Purist _friends_ ,” the chancellor said coldly. “Any sign of the Wraith?”

“None,” the officer replied.

“Well, they won’t be interested in an uninhibited word,” Druhin said. “They only feed on humans, so the animals there would be of no use for them.”

The officer hesitated for a moment. “I don’t think the planet was always uninhibited, sir,” he then replied. “There are no buildings, and no signs of agriculture within a radius of a day’s march from the Gate, so it has been most likely abandoned for a very long time. But we did find some strange devices whose making shows the hand of the Old Ones. We didn’t touch them, as we couldn’t guess what purpose they might once have served, but the symbols upon them looked very familiar. So, perhaps once, millennia ago, the Old Ones did live on that planet.”

“That’s possible,” the chancellor agreed, “as they wouldn’t have built a Gate on a world that they didn’t intend to populate. Very well, officer; the Council expects a detailed written report tomorrow. Until then, do you have any suggestions?”

“I have two,” the officer answered. “One: we shouldn’t send the Purists there, as we can’t tell if the device would help them to escape. Two: we should send out an engineering team to examine the device. Perhaps our guests could be of assistance,” he added, glancing at Harper pointedly. “They seem to have a great deal more understanding of such things than our people.”

The strange mixture of desperate longing and resignation on Harper’s face was almost painful to see. The little engineer knew all too well that in his current condition a trip through the Gate was out of question. Especially one to a planet with such an extremely unfriendly climate. And yet he was dying to go, to get his clever hands on that unknown piece of machinery, to find out what it did and what made it tick.

The chancellor seemed to understand his dilemma, because he didn’t even ask him. “Perhaps the Perseid gentlemen would be willing to take a look,” he suggested instead.

One of the soldiers present – a high-ranking one, most likely, by the rows upon rows of medals decorating his broad chest – frowned. “Should we allow even more strangers to the Gate location?” he asked. “That’s a grave risk, Chancellor.”

Druhin shrugged. “I know it is, Chief, but what other choice do we have? The technology of the Old Ones is way beyond our understanding – we need the help of these people. And so far, they’ve proved both helpful and trustworthy.”

Dylan raised an eyebrow and looked at Tyr in suspicion. “Anything you’d be inclined to tell me about, Tyr?”

“Not at the moment, Captain,” the Nietzschean replied, completely unfazed. Dylan knew better than to press. The right time to get out of Tyr what he wanted to know would come, once there were no strangers around.

Or so he hoped. With Tyr, one could never be certain.

“Secure the Gate room,” Chief Dirige ordered the military unit on duty. “The next surveillance travel is scheduled for tomorrow morning, at the usual time. Officer Rammas.” He turned to the leader of the returning unit. ”You and your men are dismissed for the moment. I’ll debrief you in the afternoon, around the end of third shift.”

The officer gave him the local equivalent of a smart salute and marched off, with his men in tow. Chancellor Druhin turned to Dylan.

“Captain Hunt, would you and your officers like to join us for a formal dinner in the late afternoon?” he asked. “Several other members of the ruling body of our world will be attending, and you’d get the chance to meet the healers who wish to join your crew unofficially. I’m sure that it such a social event would serve a better understanding between us.”

Dylan hesitated for a moment, but it seemed a good idea, so he accepted. Getting to know more of the important people of the provisional Hoffan government could get him allies on the planet itself; and getting acquainted to his future medical personnel – personnel that he had _not_ chosen to hire – could probably prove useful for future cooperation. Trance hadn’t been her usual, perky self since their arrival in the Pegasus galaxy, and perhaps having trained healers aboard _would_ come handy… just in case.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Dinner with the provisional Council of Hoff was a dignified affair. Dylan had sent Rommie back to her ship-self to fetch Beka – and some more suitable clothes for the others, including his own dress uniform. The ship remained in Rev Bem’s care, who, as he’d pointed out humbly, wouldn’t have been the most placating table company, with the strict orders to alert Rommie through her internal comm unit as soon as something unexpected happened. The Than politely declined, too, saying that the kind of food _they_ preferred would most likely not improve human beings’ appetite.

Even so, the _Andromeda_ crew offered a suitably elegant look, with Dylan and Rommie in their dress uniforms, Tyr and Freya in their somewhat barbarian black leather pomp, Harper in his tailored suit, in which he seemed woefully uncomfortable, and Beka in her little black dress, to which she insisted to wear her military boots. Even the giggling Perseids had put on something in a different shade of grey, or so Rommie stated, even though the difference was really hard to spot.

As for the Hoffans themselves, they were supremely elegant, of course, with the women wearing evening dresses that had last been fashion on Earth in the 1890s, and the men fine three-piece-suits with silk neckties – or what seemed like silk anyway. The guests were officially introduced to the advisors and other local officials, and seated to the table so that they were mingled with the Hoffans. When the welcoming toasts had been spoken, the waiters – or servants, Dylan wasn’t entirely sure which – brought in the meal. To his surprise, it consisted of differently prepared meat dishes, with barely any vegetables.

“It’s a necessity,” Salia Boulee, the chancellor’s senior advisor, explained. “We have more livestock than people who could take care of it. And we have very few farmers left. Ours has never been an agrarian society, and the casualty rate among those who grew crop was especially high. We intend to trade livestock for crop, eventually, but we have to master our internal problems first.”

“You mean getting rid of the opposition?” Dylan asked, not quite able to suppress the accusation in his voice. The elegant woman on his side shrugged indifferently.

“Wraith collaborators, Captain,” she corrected coldly. “We see no reason to have sentimental feelings for them.”

“They’re worse than the Wraith themselves,” a tall, athletic, dark-skinned woman across the table, sitting between Tyr and Freya, agreed. “At least the Wraith don’t eat each other… well, not unless there’s no other food source and they’re not starving, that is.”

“You’ve got first-hand experience with them?” Dylan asked with interest. The woman looked absolutely stunning in her narrow-cut white gown that contrasted in the most complimentary manner with her dark skin, jet-black, hair and jewel-like, dark eyes. She also had a deep, almost husky voice that matched her looks.

“Not me; my father,” she answered. “He wasn’t a Hoffan. He came here to help with the training of Hoffan militia, but then he fell in love with my mother and stayed here. His people used to actively fight the Wraith for countless generations, instead of simply enduring the cullings or tying to hide. Theirs was one of the technologically most advanced worlds that we know of.”

“ _Was_?” Tyr asked softly from her side.

“The planet was completely destroyed a few years ago,” she replied dryly. “The Wraith finally got annoyed with the stubborn resistance and bombed the whole place into the ground. I know of no survivors.”

“What about your father?” Tyr asked, feeling instant kinship to her.

She shrugged. “When it was going to the end, his friends sent a distress call through the Gate. He returned home to help his people. We never saw him again.”

“Your mother and you?” Freya asked. Nietzschean women could fend for themselves and their offspring well enough, but she guessed that for a mere human, losing the head and protector of the family had to be a hard thing.

Unless that human was called Beka Valentine, of course.

“No,” the Hoffan woman said. “My mother died in childbirth. I meant my little brother, Leuk.” She turned to Dylan. “I’m taking him with me. He’s only eleven, I can’t leave him behind.”

Dylan frowned in displeasure. “And you would be…?”

“Liave Kassai,” she inclined her head formally. “I’m currently the head geneticist of this world; the one you’ve agreed to allow access to your ship.”

“You mean I was blackmailed into allowing it,” Dylan said sourly. “But there was no mentioning your kid brother, lady. A warship is not the right place for a child to grow up.”

“He will not be he only one,” Freya reminded him, placing a protective hand upon her belly. “He shall have company, soon enough. Or do you want to send _me_ away as well, Captain Hunt?”

Her sarcastic tone made it very clear that she was _not_ leaving, no matter what Dylan might say. Tyr dismissed the mere idea by not even commenting it. He turned to the geneticist instead. “The planet your father hailed from,” he said. “It sounds like an intriguing place. What kind of world was that?”

“It is – _was_ – called Sateda,” she replied. “I’ve never been there; my father said it was too dangerous to visit, with the frequent Wraith attacks and all.”

“They used to have impressive technology,” Chief Dirige injected from farther down on the other side of the table. “ _And_ much better weapons than ours. Perhaps that was what raised the interest of the Wraith. They want cattle, not people who could defend themselves. If a society develops beyond what they see as acceptable, they destroy it.”

“Are you sure that the planet is dead?” Dylan asked.

“Quite sure,” the chief of the militia answered. “We sent out a scouting party when… well, after we hadn’t heard from Sateda for half a year. The city where their Gate stood was nothing but a field of charred ruins and dead bodies. It was a terrible sight to behold.”

“The sight was not the only thing that was horrible, I guess,” Tyr commented, but Chief Dirige shook his head.

“Actually, Sateda was – well, it still _is_ – a relatively arid world, so the natural mummification had happened quickly. But let us not talk about such an unpleasant topic at the dinner table.”

“You should revisit the planet, though,” Tyr suggested. “If it’s dead, the Wraith will leave it alone. You could collect the weapons left behind, since they are so much better than yours.”

“We don’t rob dead people,” Chief Dirige said stiffly.

Tyr raised an ironic eyebrow. “Why would it be worse than rob living people?” he asked. “They have no need for those weapons anymore… and they would wish them to be used against the Wraith.”

“Tyr,” Dylan was a bit shocked, “that is…”

“…practical,” Salia Boulee interrupted. “I agree with Mr. Anasazi, Chief. We should send a scouting party to Sateda.”

“That has to wait,” Dirige replied. “We need to find a suitable planet for the Purists first.”

“Why do you have to wait?” Harper looked up from his plate that was filled with tasty chunks of the boiled hunch of some animal that tasted vaguely like beef. Actually, it tasted a lot better than what went for beef in his time. “Are you guys on a schedule or what?”

“No,” the chief of the militia replied. “But there is a shortage in men who are trained to keep up the peace and order in town. With all those splinter groups scattered all across the uninhibited parts, we can’t leave any of the districts uncovered. We can’t send out more than one scouting party at a time, with another unit securing the Gate room and a third one guarding the prisoners. Unless,” he added, glancing at Tyr meaningfully, “we should have some assistance.”

“Oh, I’m sure Tyr would just _love_ to try out that gate of yours,” Dylan said with a smug smile, enjoying the Nietzschean’s obvious discomfort very much.

As a rule, Niets weren’t great at trying out risky new things; acting like that stood in diagonal opposite to their survival instinct. On the other hand, Tyr couldn’t afford to lose face in front of the Hoffans, whom he needed to impress in order to win their cooperation.

“It depends on what kind of assistance you need,” the Nietzschean said in a manner that would have been considered a promise from anyone else. In his case, however, it was a skilful way to avoid making any promises at all.

“We’d appreciate your help to decide whether a planet is suitable for supporting human life or not,” Dirige replied. “Your instruments are much better suited for that than ours. And we could use some help with the unknown devices found on that planet with the two suns.”

“You wanna return there?” Harper asked. “What for? Haven’t your people said that it’s a crappy place?”

“It’s far from ideal, but it is habitable,” the chief of militia said. “And those devices _must_ be examined carefully. We need to know what they are and what they can do. As long as we don’t, they represent a threat.”

Harper raised an eyebrow. “A bit paranoid, aren’t ya? But I admit, it’s hard not to be, when you have to deal with scary vampires that wanna suck the life out of ya. Oh, man. I wish _I could_ go and take those things apart. See what makes them tick.”

“Harper,” Dylan began, but the engineer interrupted him.

“I know, I know, you can spare me the lecturing, Boss. It doesn’t mean I can’t get all wishful and stuff.”

“I cannot imagine anyone in their right mind to _wish_ to go there,” Tyr scowled. “With two suns in such close proximity, the radiation must be off the scale; certainly well above tolerable levels.”

“We should send someone who isn’t bothered by that so much,” Harper replied with a shrug. “The bugs, for example, are tough. And I can’t imagine much that could really harm the Rev. Magog are damn hard to kill; even harder than Nietzscheans.”

“Are you suggesting that we have a group of man-sized bugs and a Magog who looks like a nightmarish monster escorted through a city full of already upset people who’ve ever only made the worst possible experiences with non-humanoid species, Mr. Harper?” Dylan asked disapprovingly.

Harper quickly sorted the elements of that long-winded question into more digestible elements in his head, translated it to _Can we risk freaking the locals out?_ and then nodded vigorously.

“Yeah, Boss, that’s exactly what I mean,” he said. Then, turning to Druhin, he added. “You want a scouting party that can live through practically anything? Take ‘em.”

“You must admit that Dylan does have a point, Harper,” Beka warned. “Not everyone is so used to deal with insectoids as we are. We’ve had them around all our life. As for Rev… you said yourself that while we know he wouldn’t swat a fly, he’s not exactly trust-inducing at first sight.”

“Yeah, but he can endure radiation longer than anyone else, is immune against most poisons, and can survive freakishly long without air,” Harper pointed out.

“Just a moment, if you don’t mind,” Chief Dirige interrupted. “Are you afraid that the _looks_ of your crewmates would frighten our people?”

Dylan nodded. “Exactly. Non-humanoid species can be… unsettling at first.”

“Captain!” Höhne protested, his long, ridged chin trembling in righteous indignation.

“I wasn’t speaking of Perseids, Technical Director,” Dylan assured him hurriedly. “Your people don’t look different enough to frighten humans. Than – and especially Magog – do.”

“That’s true,” Höhne allowed, suitably mollified. Perseids could be a bit… _sensitive_ , especially so shortly before the onset of their mating period.

Realizing that they were nearing _that_ time suddenly made Dylan very nervous. But before he could get really worried about it, Chief Dirige returned to the original topic.

“I don’t see any problems with bringing them here,” he said. “There’s only an hour or so left till sunset. After the curfew, nobody but militia patrols are on the streets, and they’ve already seen your bug people. We can bring them in without being seen, Captain Hunt – if an hour is enough for them to get prepared, that is.”

“I doubt that the bugs would need much preparation,” Beka said with a shrug. “And like every good Wayist monk, Rev Bem is always ready for everything.”

“How many people do you need for such a scouting party?” Dylan asked the chief of militia.

“Twelve,” Dirige replied. “We usually send out a group of ten soldiers, in case they’d run into trouble; and one or two engineers or other scientists.”

“Well, we’ve got four Than warriors for protection,” Dylan counted on his fingers. “We can send Rev Bem with them, to analyse the environmental conditions; that’s five. We need an engineer, too; since Harper is out of the question, it has to be either Technical Director Höhne or Mr. Rekeeb. It’s their choice.”

“I’ll go,” Höhne said. “I’ve had more experience in visiting alien planets. Rekeeb and Mr. Harper can help working on the _sonograph_ machine in the meantime and on the geothermic energy project. Both are of utmost importance for Hoffan economics.”

Harper knew he couldn’t go – there was no way to guess how his… _passengers_ would react – but he still felt cheated. Damn, but this was the biggest thing since the discovery of slipstream, and he had to stay behind! It was so _unfair_! There he stood, with a death sentence hanging over his head (or rather slumbering in his belly), and he couldn’t even try out the Stargate before leaving the scene.

 _The Universe hates you – deal with it_ , he repeated his mantra. This was something he had to tell himself more often than he’d care. But it had never felt so adequate – or half so annoying – like at this very moment.

Höhne’s offer had been accepted in the meantime, and so the scout party had six members already. The half of what the Hoffans seemed to think necessary.

“I am _not_ subjecting my DNA to potentially destructive radiation,” Tyr declared when all eyes turned to him, “and neither should you. There is no need to risk genetic damage, as long as there are plenty of other planets out there to visit.”

“Don’t look at me, either,” Beka added. “You all know how I think about planets in general. Give me a nice, environment-controlled drift, even if it’s crawling with baddies, and I’m your guy… girl… whatever. But spare me the crawling in the mud, radiation poisoning or not. It’s just not my thing, and you can’t make me go, Dylan.”

“I don’t intend to,” Dylan replied. “I’ll go myself.”

“Dylan… Captain, is that really necessary?” Rommie asked, clearly startled by the idea.

“Well, if nobody of my command staff is willing, _someone_ has to go,” Dylan answered, but his eyes were bright with anticipation. “Besides, I’m curious. A planet with twin suns – it ought to be interesting.”

“And dangerous,” Rommie said. “You must admit, Captain, that Tyr is right about the radiation. We can’t know how harmful it is.”

“Tyr is paranoid, like every Nietzschean, when it comes to their oh-so-perfect genes,” Dylan snorted. “I might not be as tough as Rev or the Than, but I can take a lot. Come on, Rommie, where’s your sense for adventure?”

“Apparently, Harper has left it out when he adjusted my programming last time,” Rommie answered wryly. “Do you want me to accompany your on this trip, Captain?”

Dylan shook his head. He’d have loved to have Rommie with him – the only one he could trust unconditionally – but for the same reason, he needed her aboard her ship-self. “No,” he said, “I want you to go back to the ship with Beka and maintain amber alert… just in case that we get company.”

“I wish to return as well,” Freya said. At Tyr’s surprised frown, she added. “The Hoffan doctors need to get familiar with the medical deck before we leave the system. _And_ to settle in their quarters comfortably.”

Dylan couldn’t help but feel suspicious when a Nietzschean woman seemed so concerned with the comfort of mere _kludges_. But Freya was perhaps worried about her unborn child. Genetic perfection or not, these were far from normal circumstances for a pregnancy.

“Very well,” he said. “You and the ladies can also go back with the _Maru_ … if they can get packed in half an hour, that is.”

“Don’t worry, Captain,” Ms Kassai, the lady geneticist, said with a smile. “We’re used to field work. And we can always have the rest of our things sent after us.

“Good, then this is settled,” Dirige took back the lead. “I’ll give you four soldiers and an experienced officer who’s gone through the Gate many times. Mr. Anasazi can join the other scouting party, the one we’re sending to Sateda, if he wishes,” he added, looking at the Nietzschean.

Tyr nodded. He very much wished to see the weapons the Satedans had hoped to fight the Wraith with. Even if they’d lost in the end, the weapons still could be formidable. And it wasn’t as if he’d get the chance to acquire new gauss rifles in the near future, so he had to start looking for a good substitute in time.

With that, the discussion ended, and the guests turned their attention to the dessert: some sort of milk-based pudding with syrup that the Hoffans seemed to enjoy very much. The _Andromeda_ crew, on the other hand, sincerely hoped they’d never forced to try it again for the rest of their lives. Not only was it abysmally sweet, it also had the texture of ground tree bark. Tyr refused to even guess what it might have been.

The only one of them who really enjoyed it was Harper. But Harper also loved Sparky Cola, which, in Tyr’s opinion, made him unfit to give any good judgement where suitable food was concerned.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Aboard the _Andromeda_ , Born to Starfire was positively surprised by the events that had occurred on Hoff.

“This planet you are about to visit might be suitable for us,” she said to Glittering Starlight, her right-hand bug in tactical matters. “If the soil is as fertile as the Hoffans say, we might be able to grow a sufficient amount of fungi in underground areas with the necessary water supply. And we’d be a lot less vulnerable to the binary system’s radiation levels than humans would.”

The Ruby Than nodded in agreement. “I’ll take a holographic recorder with me to make an extensive and well-documented survey,” she said. “No doubt, Harper would wish to at least see what’s down there… especially those machines.”

“Do you have any idea what they might be?” the Diamond Than asked.

Glittering Starlight wriggled her antennae in a manner that was the Than equivalent of a shrug.  
“I might be able to make an educated guess when I’ve seen them,” she replied. As a rule, Ruby Than were good technicians, beyond being excellent pilots. “But if you want me to make a wild guess off the top of my head, I’d say that they could be generators.”

“Generators,” Born to Starfire repeated thoughtfully. “To provide the necessary energy supply for a colony long gone, perhaps?”

“That’s one possibility, although no ruins whatsoever have been found so far,” Glittering Starlight answered. “But I was rather thinking of protective shielding. Consider this: if there ever was a colony, or if someone as much as _planned_ to start one, they needed a more… human-friendly environment. Shielding a large enough area from the harsh sunlight would be an excellent beginning.”

“Would that be possible?” Born to Starfire asked.

The Ruby Than wiggled her antennae again. “With the right technology? Sure it would. And the people who’ve built those Stargate things _should_ have had the right technology. The question is whether we will be able to make the generators work again… assuming that my guess of the purpose of those things is right, and all parts are still there, that is.”

“Could you…?” Born to Starfire trailed off, not sure how to ask.

The Ruby Than shook her head. “Certainly not alone, and I don’t think Radiance of Wisdom would be of much help. Her field of expertise is a different one. The Perseids could probably do it, although I’m not without doubt about their motivation. Since they seem to have adopted the Hoffans as a culture already, they might support _their_ claim on the planet.”

“That doesn’t mean that we must give up on it,” the Diamond Than pointed out. “We’ve coexisted with humans on hundreds of planets during the entire history of the Commonwealth… and beyond.”

“True, but _these_ people are not used to live in peace with anyone but their own kind,” the Ruby Than reminded her. “And I, for my part, trust Harper more than all Perseids on Sintii IV. Or on Ugroth, for that matter.”

“So do I,” the Diamond Than replied. “So be careful… and keep an eye on that Magog. He might be a reformed monster, but still a monster. I’m making you responsible for the safety of our Emerald warriors. Don’t disappoint me.”

“I’ll not,” Glittering Starlight responded. “I know what’s at stake.”

“I hope you do,” Born to Starfire said. “We can’t afford to lose this period’s spawn. And we need to keep as many of them alive as possible, even if there _will_ be a way back home one day.”

Glittering Starlight gave no immediate answer to that. She was a very intelligent bug, and one without illusions, unlike the Amber workers who had a deeply I grained trust in the Diamond leaders’ abilities, or the rather single-mindedly loyal Emerald warriors.

“I don’t really think we’ll ever go back,” she finally admitted. “And, to be honest, I don’t even want to. Not very much anyway. Here, in this galaxy where the Commonwealth was never present, we could have a new, clean start. Sure, the Wraith are bad, but the Magog invasion and the rogue Nietzschean Prides back home were a lot worse. If we can secure that planet, or another one, for ourselves, we could recreate the Than Empire here. On a small scale, for sure, but there will be room – and time – enough to grow later.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Born to Starfire agreed. “Even if a way back _is_ possible, chances are that we’ll have to raise the first spawn here. So, go and keep your eyes open. We need to choose carefully.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
After having shown the Hoffan healers to their designed quarters, Rommie interfaced with her ship-self to analyse the recent events. That enabled her to exchange data on a virtual level, with a speed that would have been unimaginable in verbal communication. Plus, that way she could be sure that nobody would eavesdrop. With Freya back on board and Trance listening everywhere (while displaying technical skills she’d always pretended not to have) Rommie found it safer to keep all organics out of her internal communication.

She might have made an exception with Harper, but Harper was currently on the medical deck, his condition being checked upon by the Hoffan women. Harper had insisted to be left alone with his new doctors – which had put Trance into a less than pleasant state of mind – and had even requested privacy mode. That didn’t keep _Andromeda_ -the-ship from listening, though. Harper wasn’t just her only engineer at the moment; he was also the best one she’d ever had. The little human kept her in a better shape than a whole team of High Guard technicians. She didn’t want to lose him.

Most ship AIs got specifically attached to their commanding officers rather quickly. It might have been a quirk in their programming – they were the most sophisticated machines the science of the Commonwealth had ever come up with, after all – or it might have been the programmers’ intent from the beginning, in order to ensure their loyalty beyond the oath they had to swear. Rommie was no exception. However, the captain’s personality had a great influence on the depth of this loyalty. Her working relationship with her former commanding officer, the Perseid Captain Perrim, was neutral, matter-of-fact, no-nonsense. Perseids rarely developed any emotional attachments anyway, not even among themselves.

With Dylan Hunt, it was a different matter. Back in the old Commonwealth days, Dylan had been heroic, sociable, devoted to the High Guard… perhaps even a little naïve. Many High Guard officers had been like that, their attitude based on the unshakable faith of the stability of the Commonwealth and the moral principles of their upbringing. Growing up on Tarn-Vedra, in constant awe of the Vedrans themselves, could only strengthen that attitude. No wonder that poor Dylan had been shaken so badly when he’d woken up from his three-hundred-year-old dream to find everything he’d so firmly believed in fallen to a billion pieces.

Sometimes when he did something truly reckless, Rommie briefly wondered if he was truly as stable as he liked to see himself… or if he was simply delusional, clinging to his chosen role as a messianic leader desperately, so that he could keep the rest of his sanity intact. If _that_ was what made him ignore the fact that circumstances were greatly different now from what they’d been like three hundred years ago. Sometimes Rommie was worried about him.

For her part, she reacted differently. Even though her loyalty towards her captain remained unwavering, she tried to bond with her new, rag-tag crew. Tried to learn from them, to find out how she could put their abilities to the best possible use. Of course, machines had it easier. Machines worked with _facts_ , and even though such an advanced AI _did_ have the cybernetic equivalent of feelings, those were easier to keep in check than the rampant emotions of organic beings. The human psyche had no firewalls.

Nonetheless, she found that she liked her new crew. Granted, they were a bunch of adventures who didn’t always take legality too seriously. But they were spirited, talented, intuitive, and tough as nails. _And_ they treated her – at least her android self – like a person. Not the way it had been done in the times of the Commonwealth, when AIs might have had citizen rights but had still been kept at arm’s length. No, the crew of the _Maru_ had embraced her as a friend. Perhaps because they were sort of outsiders themselves, but they always treated her as one of their own.

She liked them all. Beka with her fierce protectiveness towards her crew, her snarky remarks and her ruthless streak when it came to save those she considered her own. Rev Bem, the vicious-monster-turned-pacifist, with whom she could discuss philosophy whenever she wanted – a luxury she had not had as a warship of the High Guard. She even liked Trance, although she could never understand her and though she had begun to question the purple alien’s true motives lately.

But most of all, she liked Harper. Harper, who’d given her an android body – ‘anatomically correct and fully functional’, as he sometimes jokingly added – who had a light crush on her, despite her being a machine. Harper, who could interface with her and who’d have willingly died for her when she’d been manipulated to unknowingly kill Sebastian Lee, the President of Castalia.

She had been ready to sacrifice herself as her oath demanded. For Dylan, for the mission, for a renewed Commonwealth. But Harper had been ready to sacrifice himself for _her_. She wondered whether her captain – whether _any_ of her captains, including the great Dylan Hunt, for whom she had feelings probably beyond the working relationship of ship and commanding officer – would have done the same.

She wondered if this meant that her loyalties were divided or if there simply was a glitch in her programming.

She didn’t think either of those were the case. She knew she’d never betray her captain, not even for her engineer. But that didn’t mean that she’d not keep a wary eye on the well-being of her engineer… as long as she could. As long as there still was an engineer to keep an eye on.

She accessed the surveillance system to see what the Hoffan doctors were doing with Harper.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
It was amazing how quickly the Hoffan healers had learned to work with the sophisticated equipment of the medical deck, especially considering that the instruments were well beyond than anything they’d ever seen or heard of. They’d figured out their functions in record time, and after some awkward fumbling at first, they soon worked with them as if they’d ever been using Commonwealth-issue machines. As the healer commented, taking blood samples and checking body functions was basically the same thing, no matter what instrument was being used to do it.

They were also very thorough, and completely unfazed by the fact that Harper must have been the worse patient they’d ever met. He kept complaining about what he called their prodding and poking, got anxious that they might wake the larvae with all the fuss, and demanded results at every five minutes, pointing out that he had work to do and no time to waste. But the geneticist lady, Ms Kassai, just set forth her analysis calmly, and the healer, who could have been his mother age-wise, patted his head in a reassuring manner.

“Have a little more patience, dear, we’re almost done.”

“That’s what you said an hour ago,” Harper groused but didn’t flinch away from her touch. In fact, he almost seemed to lean into it, as if long deprived of such gentle gestures. She seemed to understand it, because she patted him on the head again – then she went to check the results of her analysis on the serum that kept the Magog larvae dormant.

“It’s fairly toxic stuff you’re taking on the regular basis,” she said with a displeased frown. “I’m surprised that your body has managed to adapt to it at all. But you’ll be going through one hell of a withdrawal, should we be able to get those things out of you.”

“Frankly, I’d suffer through it gladly,” Harper replied, grimacing. “Do you really think you could remove them?”

“I don’t know,” Ms Capec answered honestly. “Liave thinks it might be possible to attack the larvae on a genetic level… in theory, at least. But finding the right agent is usually a long process, and time, well…”

“…isn’t something I’d have aplenty,” Harper finished for her. “Hey, no need to be queasy about it. It’s not so that I haven’t had months to get used to the thought. I’ve just hoped that you might be able to do something, ya know, with all your expertise in anti-monster medicine and all that.”

“We’ll certainly try,” the healer assured him.

“It’s a good thing that your medical officer has conserved one of the larvae removed from Mr. Anasazi,” Ms Kassai added. “We can take genetic samples to compare them with yours… and with other results.”

Harper’s sixth sense began to tingle at that. These two ladies, willing as they were to help him (or at least to try) as a side effect, were not here for _him_. Nor had they come aboard because of Freya’s pregnancy. Of that he was sure by now. Nietzschean women had been bred for uncounted generations to give birth easily, and it had never been mentioned that Freya would be having complications. And yet Tyr had done his best to get these two onboard.

Which could only men two things. Either Tyr planned to marry one of them (most likely the geneticist lady; she had an almost Nietzschean air about him, and Harper could see why she would appeal to Tyr), or something was very wrong with Tyr. So wrong that he was willing – willing? desperate! – to accept any help, wherever it might come from.

Suddenly, Tyr’s eagerness to find those Earth humans – and their apparently talented geneticist doctor – made excellent sense, too. Tyr was in trouble. In serious trouble.

The little wheels in Harper’s mind where whirling at top speed. So, Mr. Big, Buff, and _Über_ was in trouble. The ladies were analysing Magog genetic samples. There were another series of blood samples under examination, aside from his own. Those could only be Tyr’s. So, what could Tyr’s blood samples have to do with the research Ms Kassai was doing on Magog larvae remains?

After a moment, it made click in Harper’s head, with such intensity that he half-expected the women to have heard it. The only thing he’d ever in common with Tyr was the Magog infestation. Only that Trance’s treatment, while it hadn’t even been an option in Harper’s case, had worked by Tyr like a charm.

Or had it? Harper wasn’t so sure anymore. But he had the feeling that asking about it right now wouldn’t be the wise thing to do.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
In the meantime, down in the Gate room of Hoff’s capital, a rather unusual scouting party was preparing for departure. The members of the Hoffan militia, even though some of them had already seen some Emerald Than upon the first landing of the _Maru_ , were staring at the bizarre aliens with their mouths literally hanging open. The Than had discarded any clothing that would hinder them in moving around freely and were wearing nothing but their tool or weapons belts. Their carapaces were glittering in deep blood red or emerald green in the matted light of the gas lamps down there.

Rekeeb, whom Höhne had decided to send instead of himself in the last minute (judging that the geothermic energy project was more important and thus needed the more experienced researcher), had put on a grey coverall with a heavy tool belt that could have put a small machine shop to shame. Although usually bare-headed, he was now wearing a protective cap with long flaps covering his ears, similar to the one Höhne had on all the time. He’d interfaced a small recording device worn on that cap with his cranial implant, so that it could practically see through his eyes and could be activated by a mental order. It was a useful little gadget; one of those small, practical things Perseids liked so much.

While the Hoffans chatted with the Perseid amiably enough (he was a known quality, after all), they made a wide circle around Rev Bem, who stood in the middle of this miniature vacuum calmly, his long, curved claws tucked into the wide sleeves of his orange robe. He was used to this kind of reaction. Even people who didn’t know a thing about Magog – and he’d been relieved to find a whole galaxy of such people – usually found the looks of him repulsive.

He didn’t blame them. On his long pilgrimage as a Wayist monk, he’d discovered beauty in many things, some of them dangerous in nature like volcanoes or solar storms – but not even he could ever discover beauty in his own kind. It saddened him that his entire species, however it might have come into existence, was devoted to complete destruction and to nothing else. Why, just to be born, they had to eat their host alive from the inside, and then tear open the still breathing body that had been their shelter to come to this world – a world that would have been a so much happier place without them.

He’d been born the same way. He’d been trying to make amends ever since he’d found the Way. But he sometimes wondered whether all his efforts would be enough to make a true difference. He was but one reformed Magog, and there had been only another one that he knew of: the founder of Wayism.

 _The Universe doesn’t give us what we want_ , he repeated one of the basic teachings mentally. _It gives us what we need_.

And yet he asked himself, not for the first time, what was it what he really needed.

As always, the Universe refused to provide an answer.


	11. Chance Encounter on M85-393

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, remember that this is still an AU, and will get even more AU as we go on. It’s established in this universe that Zelenka is married to Marta (the girl from “Hide and Seek”), Beckett is engaged with Anika, one of the Athosian healers (a blonde extra), and that Markham and Stackhouse had married the same Athosian woman (another extra, this time a brunette) and lived in an Athosian-style clan marriage till Markham’s death.  
> Beta read by erinnyes, thanks.

**CHAPTER 10 – CHANCE ENCOUNTER ON M85-393**

Lieutenant Aiden Ford was an early riser. Not only because one didn’t really have any other choice in the Marine Corps – he’d always liked to get up early, when everyone else was still asleep, and he could have the whole place for himself. The latter would be impossible in Atlantis, of course, there was always the night watch on duty, but he found the ocean particularly peaceful right after sunrise.

On this morning, however, he didn’t have the time to stand on his balcony and admire the sun rising above the waves. He had to leave in what Dr. Beckett called ‘the wee hours of the morning’, to revisit M85-393. The planet with the twin suns that Major Sheppard considered too hot to settle on, even temporarily. The planet that Aiden himself had secretly nicknamed Gemini IV, in good old Star Trek tradition, because it was the fourth one orbiting its binary constellation.

Of course, he’d never mentioned that to Major Sheppard, who seemed to dislike it if _anyone_ gave _anything_ a name that could be remembered by people without a PhD in maths or astrophysics. Sometimes the major could be worse than the professional geeks, and since he’d got busted down from his former position as the military leader of Atlantis, he reacted even worse to things that he didn’t like. But Bates and the rest of the team thought that Gemini IV was a fine name for the planet, and so they stuck to it when no geeks were around.

Aiden was eager to see the planet. The team had first visited it when Bates had still been their team leader and Aiden himself a mere member of Sheppard’s team. He’d seen dozens of planets in his time with the SGC, but never one with twin suns. He couldn’t wait to see what it was like.

“Lieutenant…?” someone said behind him.

Aiden turned around. The senior member of his team, Staff Sergeant Zeke McKinney, was standing behind him: a stocky, powerfully built man in his mid-forties, with short-cropped black air and a broad, deeply lined face. One of his eyes seemed slightly smaller than the other, as a result of an injury that – together with an eye-patch that he’d had to wear for moths after said injury – had earned him the nickname ‘the one-eyed sheriff’. That and his uncanny resemblance to John Wayne, that is.

“Mission briefing in ten, sir,” he reminded his CO.

Aiden nodded. “I’ll be there in five, Staff Sergeant. Give me a moment here.”

“Yes, _sir_!” McKinney saluted smartly, turned on his heals and left. Aiden watched the play of sunlight on the waves for another couple of minutes, and then followed him.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
When he entered the briefing room, Aiden couldn’t suppress a sudden wave of pride and respect. These people who were now _his_ team, were the best and toughest in Atlantis. Veterans, every single one of them. Bates and McKinney had both been in Afghanistan _and_ Iraq before being chosen for one of the SGC’s Marine teams. Toussaint had been Black Ops and survived as the only one some mission in Belize that had been so secret that even its existence was denied afterwards. Bosco “Boss” Teague, the team’s tech wizard, who looked like an ebony Buddha, had worked for Area 51 for decades and knew thirteen ways to kill a man with his bare hands. Rickman, with his thin face and thinning hair, could have been mistaken for a geek, but he could fire a grenade launcher (and hit his target unerringly) while running for his life. And Yamato, only a couple of years older than Aiden himself, while slender and smooth-faced like a girl, was absolutely deadly in unarmed combat.

Come to think, he was absolutely deadly in _armed_ combat, too.

The team’s resident geeks, Doctors Simpson and Corrigan, were also present. No piece of Ancient technology had been found during the first surveillance visit to M85-393, but this time a longer search was planned, and one could never know. And in the unlikely case that they would find anything, they needed Dr. Corrigan’s help. Like most engineers, Simpson could read Ancient reasonably well, due to her previous years with the SGC, but with unknown pieces of tech, one could never be careful enough.

“Good morning,” Aiden said. “I’ll make this brief, as you’ve all been to M85-393 already… unlike me or the doctors here.” The men grinned, because it was very true, of course. Aiden continued. “This time, we’re gonna go by puddle jumper, and search the surroundings of the Gate in a radius of fifty miles. Should we find anything of interest, we’ll extend that radius to a hundred miles. The main goal is to figure out whether the Ancients have left any morsel of useful tech there. We’ll also map that area for habitable caves that cold give shelter for three hundred or so persons.”

“We’re taking the Athosians with us to the Alpha Site?” Bates asked with a frown.

Aiden rolled his eyes. “Of course we are, Sergeant, or should we leave them behind to become Wraith food?”

“I’m not suggesting to leave them behind, Lieutenant,” Bates replied. “I’m suggesting we should evacuate them somewhere _else_ where they can’t compromise the safety of our own people.”

“And just whom do you consider _our people_?” Aiden asked sharply. “Would you include Doctor Z, or Doc Beckett, or even Stackhouse, who’re all married to Athosian women? Or would you send them to a different planet, too?”

“Of course not,” Bates snorted. “They’d understand why they have to be temporarily separated. At least Stackhouse certainly would.”

“If that’s what you think, you should perhaps make your suggestions to Doctor Weir or Major Vogel,” Aiden said.

Bates snorted again. “Yeah, because they’d be willing to listen!”

“Neither am I,” Aiden replied with a shrug. “All right, people, let’s go. You’ve got the sketchy map from the first survey trip. Doctors Simpson and Corrigan have their tools I assume?” the two scientists nodded. They were SGC-veterans. They knew their stuff. “Maintenance has provided MREs for three days and sleeping bags for anyone. Any questions before we disembark?”

“I’ve got one,” Rickman said. “Who’s gonna fly us? I hope it won’t be Doc Beckett.”

Aiden shifted positions uncomfortably. He’d long regretted having ranted about Dr. Beckett’s incompetence as a pilot during the great storm. The doc was a great guy, and he didn’t need his authority being undermined. But the damage was already done, and Aiden knew it would take time for his men to trust the good doctor anywhere else than his Infirmary.

“No,” he said. “Stackhouse has lent us Lieutenant Lindstrom, and before you start panicking about women behind the wheel, I’ve been on a mission with her before. She’s really good.”

The team let out a collective sigh of relief. They all knew Lieutenant Annalisa Lindstrom – just Lisa to her friends, among which Aiden called himself lucky to be counted – a former chopper pilot and the only remaining contribution of Denmark to the expedition since the tragic death of poor Dr. Petersen a couple of months earlier. She was a slim, blonde, easy-going woman with short-cropped hair and a well-functioning artificial ATA gene who took to flying puddle jumpers with a passion, as soon as her gene had made it possible. She’d already proved to be remarkable level-headed in a crisis and had a steady hand on the controls. Everyone liked to fly with her, because she always concentrated on getting the job safely done, instead of showing off her considerable flying skills, as many of the male pilots would do.

She was also Aiden’s best friend in Atlantis. Their friendship based on their shared love for basketball, both watching and playing it, and for old-fashioned jazz. Sometimes Aiden thought that she might not be adverse to become more than just a friend for him, had Aiden not been ‘completely besotted with someone else’, as she liked to put it. Amazingly enough, her one-sided feelings didn’t put an undue strain on their friendship.

She was awaiting them in the hangar, leaning against Jumper Three casually, smiling that reserved, just a little wistful smile of hers. She seemed impossibly young, despite the fact that she was about to hit twenty-nine in two weeks’ time, almost like a boy. She tried to compensate her looks with a lipstick that, in Aiden’s opinion, was several shades too dark. But again, Aiden knew from first-hand experience how hard it was to be taken seriously when one looked younger than one’s true age. He’d suffered from the babyface syndrome all his life, too.

He was genuinely surprised to see Dr. Beckett standing with Lisa, and gave his men a warning look, lest someone would make a bad joke about the doc’s flying skills. Besides, it didn’t seem likely that Beckett would have his eyes on the controls, this time. He was in full offworld gear, which in his case meant a backpack of the size of a walk-in closed, full of equipment.

“What are you doing here, Doc?” Aiden asked. “I wasn’t told you were coming with us.”

“It was a last-minute decision,” Beckett replied tiredly. “Someone needs to check for viruses and bacteria in the air and the water, to see if there’s anything that could turn be harmful in the long run. And since I needed to get out for a while anyway, I volunteered. Hope it’s all right with you, Lieutenant.”

Aiden nodded without a comment. He knew that the good doctor was still agonizing about the nanovirus disaster and the loss of several expedition members due to said artificial viruses, which was something he could certainly relate to. He’d had the virus in his system, after all, and could hope for less than an hour till a sudden and horrifying death. Battle was something he’d been trained to deal with, but being killed by microscopic machines that would torture him with terrible visions before rupturing an artery in his brain… he shuddered from the memory.

“Sure, Doc, be our guest,” he said. Perhaps a change of scenery would really do Beckett good. Besides, he was a great guy to have on a mission… as long as he didn’t have to fly the jumper or touch any piece of Ancient tech, that is. With a natural gene as strong as Beckett’s, it was frustrating sometimes how reluctant he could be to actually _use_ it.

And it wasn’t just technophobia, either. Aiden had finally realized that. Beckett had no problems whatsoever to use highly-developed medical equipment, be it Earth-originated, Ancient, or any other alien stuff. He felt competent enough around those, and rightly so. He only began to panic when something outside from his area of expertise was demanded from him. In such cases one had to be a bit… persuasive with him.

“Get in, Doc,” Aiden ordered. “We have to go.”

He joined Lisa in the cockpit, which was fairly small, allowing just enough room for pilot and co-pilot, while the team plus the three doctors took their seats in the passenger compartment. Not that he’d be any help in the co-pilot’s chair, as the gene therapy hadn’t worked for him, but ever since he’d set foot in a jumper for the first time, Aiden just _had_ to sit there and watch. Especially when they were travelling through space… that was something even better, even more mythical than Gate travel. Going through the Gate was a great rush, he wouldn’t deny that, but one didn’t really get the feeling that one had left Earth… or whatever planet one had started from.

He regretted a little that they’d go through the Gate this time, but at least _they were going to see a planet with two suns_! As much as the dire state of the expedition was clear for him, he couldn’t suppress his almost childish joy. Extraterrestrial life had always been a great interest of him. He’d enrolled a few courses of palaeontology and related subjects in college, but his time in the SGC had taught him that theory was nothing compared with reality.

He smiled at Lisa who returned his smile with one of her own while sliding into the pilot’s chair with practiced ease. As if she’d flown these sleek little spaceships all her life. As if she’d been born to fly them, instead of the heavy military choppers she’d flown back on Earth. She laid her palms upon the instrumental board, and the controls responded immediately. The lights flickered on, and, with a low hum, the whole ship came to life.

Lisa turned to Aiden, grinning. “Do you want to do the honours?” she asked.

Aiden grinned back at her. He loved dialling up the Gate, especially if he got to use the small DHD device mounted in the cockpit, between the pilot’s chair and his. As he pushed the keys, the ship lifted into the air, hovering as the turntable beneath it twirled open, like the iris back at the SGC. Slowly, steadily, the puddle jumper sank through the opening and into the Gate Room, floating before the open wormhole.

“Jumper Three, you’re free to depart,” came Peter Grodin’s voice through the radio.

“Understood, Flight Control,” Lisa replied crisply and hit the controls. The engines roared, and the ship accelerated through the wormhole. As usual, the transition was so fast that they barely registered the icy cold of the trip before they shot out from the corresponding Gate on M85-393.

The intensity of the sunlight nearly blinded them. Luckily, Lisa had the ship polarize the front window with a mental order.

“That was… shocking, to say the least,” Aiden commented. “Doc, can you tell me what time of the day is it?”

“I wouldnae risk a wild guess, son,” Beckett replied, checking the atmospheric scanners back in the passenger compartment. “Eric, me lad, could ya make hands and feet of these readings?”

Dr. Corrigan peeked over Beckett’s shoulder. “Well, it seems that we’ve arrived just after the second sunrise,” he said. “The first sun is halfway to its zenith already, and the second one has just got up above the horizon. It won’t be too hot for another couple of hours; this world has a twenty-nine-hour day… roughly calculated, that is. Our timing was good enough.”

“I’d suggest sunglasses, though,” Beckett added.

“Noted,” Aiden replied, turning back to them. “Any energy readings?”

“Scanning,” Dr. Simpson was already at it. “Nothing so far… no, wait, I’ve got something here… some kind of energy spike… no, it’s gone again.”

“How come that it wasn’t discovered during the first survey?” Aiden frowned.

“Because it wasn’t _there_ at the first time,” Bates replied with a scowl. “ _Sir_ ,” he added with an emphasis that wasn’t particularly friendly. Sergeant Michael Eugene Bates didn’t like his competence being questioned. Not even by his baby-faced commanding officer.

 _Especially_ not by his baby-faced commanding officer who was now commanding _his_ former team.

“There’s no need to snap at me, Sergeant,” Aiden said evenly. “Fact is, you’ve _not_ reported any energy readings from the first surveillance trip. Fact is, we _have_ messed an unknown energy spike just now. All I wanna know is why it’s there _now_ when it wasn’t there _then_.”

“We didn’t specifically scan for Ancient energy sources, Lieutenant,” Teague intervened. “We’ve made a basic survey as usual: atmospheric conditions, radiation, possible biohazards… that sort of stuff.”

Aiden considered that for a moment, then he nodded. “All right, I see your point. But since it’s there _now_ , and _we’re_ here too, we need to investigate, I guess. Lisa, do you have the coordinates?”

“Yes, but I won’t be able to park right there,” Lieutenant Lindstrom warned. “The HUD-map,” she nodded at the holographic screen that had just popped up in front of her, “shows a suitable landing place, but we’ll have to hike at least two klicks till we reach the point.”

“Had we gone through the Gate on foot, we could have taken a shortcut across the hills and spare us two third of the hiking,” Corrigan added, studying the map.

“Well, that can’t be helped now,” Aiden replied with a shrug. “I’d say, once you’ve let us out, you should continue the surveillance, Lieutenant. I’ll leave two of the men behind with you, just in case, and we’ll maintain radio contact all the time.”

Lisa nodded. “Understood, sir.” They might have the same rank and Lisa even a couple more duty years under her belt, but Aiden was the team leader. He was responsible for the mission, and so he gave the orders.”

“Should you find anything of interest – anything _else_ , I mean – contact us,” Aiden continued. “And be careful with possible pieces of Ancient tech; with you having the gene and all, it could become… risky to touch anything.”

“Don’t worry, sir,” Lisa replied. “I’ve got a master’s degree in aerodynamical engineering; I know how to behave around scary technology.”

“How on Earth did you end up studying something like that?” Aiden asked in surprise. “Did you want to become an astronaut?”

“Actually, I wanted to become a car mechanic, just like my father,” Lisa grinned at him. “But he had strange ideas about his little girl doing a nice, comfy desk job, so he sent me to college, where I was then recruited in my sophomore year. The best decision I’ve ever made,” she added. “I mean, I get to _fly_. And I got to come to Atlantis.” She glanced at Aiden briefly. “By the way, what did _you_ study?”

“You’re just dying to find out, aren’t you?” Aiden grinned back at her.

She nodded. “Of course. It could turn out to be excellent blackmail material. Especially if I could tell Dr. McKay that your studies haven’t included any maths.”

“You are evil,” Aiden declared, shuddering from the thought what McKay would say if he knew that Aiden had actually studied _history_. Granted, _military_ history, but it was one of the so-called soft sciences that McKay repeatedly – and very vocally – declared useless mumbo-jumbo. As if sucking at prime/not prime wouldn’t be bad enough.

Lisa laughed, seeing the expression on his face.

“I’ve got three brothers and two sisters,” she said, “and I’m the youngest. You can’t imagine what I had to do _not_ to get smothered as a child.”

Which was a joke, and Aiden knew it. Her family had always been very supportive, her older sibs never begrudging her the chance they hadn’t had themselves: to go to college and to live her dream of flying. Dr. Beckett, who came from a similar background, gave her a smile full of understanding. She smiled back, then she turned to the controls again, and a few minutes later landed the jumper on a small lighting.

“This is as close to the coordinates as I can get,” she said, handing Aiden one of those portable lifesign detectors. “Take this, just in case.”

“What for?” Aiden shrugged. “The planet is uninhabited, and besides, Dr. Corrigan already has one of these.”

“Humour me, would you?” Lisa replied. “I thought you’ve learned at the SGC that things are seldom as simple as they seem.”

That was certainly true, and so Aiden gave in. The majority of the team left the jumper and made themselves ready for the hiking that lay before them, while the little ship, with Teague and McKinney still aboard, lifted off again to continue the survey in an extended radius, scanning for caves and industrially refined metal, mostly.

Aiden watched them leave with mixed feelings. It wasn’t so that he didn’t trust Lisa’s skills, and Boss and Zeke were ‘as reliable as antigravs’, as Dr. McKay liked to say in his Trekkie moments. But Lisa had been very right when she said that things were seldom as simple as they seemed. Especially in the Pegasus galaxy.

“Lieutenant,” Bates’ voice said behind his back, “we’re ready to go.”

He nodded. The sooner they got this mission accomplished, the better. “All right,” he said, “let’s do this, people. Move it!”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
The hiking across the steep, densely wooded hills was an unpleasant exercise, with both suns climbing higher and higher all the time. The trees and bushes seemed to have a weird life of their own, rolling up their leaves as the brightness of the suns became steadily stronger, or closing them like a falter.

“A clever evolutionary trick,” Dr. Corrigan commented. “That way they can minimize the evaporation and so the water loss.” He was an anthropologist with considerable linguist skills, but if one had worked for the SGC, one picked up a great deal of useful knowledge from other disciplines as well.

“They also minimize the shadow they’d give otherwise,” Dr. Simpson sighed unhappily. With her fair complexion, she suffered from the harsh sunlight the most, despite her Athosian-style straw hat and her sunglasses. Her many freckles became almost red and seemed to glow in her pare, sweating face.

Bates, who liked her more than all the other geeks together – she was an Army brat and therefore almost one of them – gave her a worried look. “Can you go on, Dr. Simpson?”

Julia Simpson laughed. “Oh, I’m not that easy to kill, Sergeant. Remind me to tell you about the time my Dad took me to a trip in the Llano Estacado. I just really, _really_ hate such places.”

“Ye’re not the only one, lass,” Carson Beckett, too, was profoundly sweating under the weight of his equipment, his face alarmingly red. Toussaint stepped up to him and wordlessly removed his large backpack. Then he took off his cap and pushed it onto the doctor’s head. He was a veteran of Belize, after all, he could bear heat better than anyone else from his team.

Carson glanced at him in relief. “Thank ye, son.”

The others grinned, since Toussaint was actually older than Beckett, if only a year or two. But they’d all gotten used to the friendly Scotsman calling every single man ‘son’ or ‘lad’, regardless of their age.

“We’re almost there, doc,” Aiden said encouragingly. “Dr. Simpson, can you get any more readings of that energy spike of yours?”

She shook her head. “No, it’s gone. But I’ve got the coordinates fixed. Whatever it is, it’s a couple of hundred metres that way,” she gestured to their left.

Aiden looked around. They were currently on a very small lighting amidst those strange thorn-trees, with barely enough room to sit down properly. But at least there was a minimum of shadow; and besides, they had to prevent getting dehydrated.

“All right,” he said, “since we don’t know what awaits us there, let’s make a break right here. We have to drink a lot, rest a little, and we can collect samples from the soil and the plants and whatever else is needed here. Toussaint and Yamato will stay here with the stuff, so that it’s safe and that we won’t need to drag all of it along with us. You’ll be close enough to come to our help, should it be necessary.”

Everyone was more than happy with the arrangement, and thy began with the collecting of samples. To general surprise, when Rickman tried to dig out some sort of weed with his knife for Dr. Parish, he accidentally pierced something that looked like a bladder and was firmly interwoven with the plant’s roots. Clear, sweet water ran through his helpless fingers, about the amount that would fill a small cup.

“These plants are living water-tanks!” Beckett exclaimed. “Can ye imagine what it would mean for Earth if we could send a few wee samples back? They could make the deserts all green again.”

“It’s by no means sure that they’d survive under so vastly different circumstances,” Corrigan reminded him. “Or what they would do to the indigenous flora. But we should bring back a few of them to our botanists to play with them. Or else Dr. Parrish would try to sneak through the Gate to get here.” He pulled out his Army-issue knife and began to dig, very carefully.

That made Rickman a bit miffed. “I’d have done that for you, Doc,” he said.

Corrigan grinned. “I’m also an archaeologist, you know; have spent half my college time on various diggings. I’m used to lay… delicate things free.” With a few careful moves, he freed the weed with its roots intact and held it high. It was a truly bizarre sight, as if it had a small balloon fastened among its roots.

“The peculiar evolution of this planet’s flora is remarkable,” he commented. “The botanists will twist themselves into knots to get there.”

“Not before we can confirm that it’s safe,” Aiden replied. “Doc, how far ahead are you? We need to move on, soon.”

“I’m almost done, lad,” Beckett replied, a bit distractedly, and stoppered the vials with the soil, water and plant life samples. He stored them in a box – a specific container, in fact, made for this very purpose – then he sealed the box and looked up. “All right, I am done. What’s next?”

“Scanning for possible lifesigns,” Corrigan replied in Aiden’s stead. “The planet may be uninhabited, but it has a Stargate. We might run into other visitors… and not necessarily friendly ones.”

“It won’t be the first time,” Aiden agreed grimly.

“It isn’t,” Corrigan said, consulting his life-sign detector. “It seems that we’re indeed not alone here.”

“Dammit!” Aiden switched on his own instrument, checked the readings and suppressed the urge to swear a blue streak; not that Dr. Simpson would be shocked, but Grandma Ford had serious objections against swearing in the earshot of ladies. “You’re right, doc. And they’re heading the same way as us… or perhaps are already there.”

“Which definitely means that there has to be something of value,” Simpson said. “What kind of lifesigns are those? Human or Wraith?”

Aiden shrugged and passed the detector to Beckett, who was the expert, after all.

“No Wraith,” Carson said after a moment, “and some of them seem to be human, at least. But there are readings that I cannae interpret.”

“Could it be animals?” Bates asked.

Beckett shook his head. “I don’t think the instrument would react to non-sentient lifeforms,” he said. “We cannae be sure, though. And this place doesn’t seem suited for animal husbandry anyway. Nay, I think it must be species we havnae met yet.”

“Which is strange,” Corrigan said, “since practically everyone we’ve met so far was human. Well, save from the Wraith and those bugs that almost killed Major Sheppard, that is.”

“Could it be the bugs?” Aiden asked, shivering despite the midday heat. He’d had the questionable pleasure to meet those things close up and still suffered from nightmares occasionally. Nightmares in which those things were crawling all over _him_ , attaching themselves to his neck, sucking the very life out of him. Sometimes he thought that SGC missions had been Sunday trips compared with the continuing horror that was life in the Pegasus galaxy.

“Nay,” Beckett said. “Those wee beasties were not sentient. Besides, I know how they read on the instruments. This here is something new.”

“And we must find out _what_ it is,” Bates added.

“Afraid so,” Aiden said. “Sergeant, call the jumper back to the landing place. We can’t afford to have it up, well, visible, till we don’t know what we’re dealing with. Tell Lieutenant Lindstrom to activate the cloak. Toussaint, Yamato, you take the samples and as much of the equipment as you can carry and start back to the landing place at once. We need to get them back to Atlantis, no matter what happens to us.”

“Shouldn’t the docs come with us, too?” Yamato asked.

Aiden shook his head. “No, I might need them to pick their brains. Don’t worry, we’ll protect them.”

Toussaint and Yamato reluctantly left, leaving their extra weapons behind. Aiden weighed a P90 in his hands.

“I assume that Dr. Simpson can handle one of these,” he said. “But what about you, Dr. Corrigan?”

Corrigan laughed. “Do you think Major Pierce would have tolerated me on SG-15 if I couldn’t fire a weapon?”

“Good,” Aiden handed him the P90. He didn’t even bother to ask Beckett; everyone in Atlantis knew what the good doctor thought about guns. “Doctor Corrigan, you have a digital camera with you, right?”

“Not just any digital camera,” Corrigan declared proudly. “I can zoom in the inscriptions of a football-sized item from a hundred metres with it.”

“Cool,” Aiden said. “We’ll need to document every oh-so-small detail for further analysis. Let’s go, people, and remember: we’re supposed to avoid any direct contact, if possible. All we have to do is to watch.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
The Gate Room of Atlantis was particularly peaceful on this evening, Dr. Teresa Weir found, as she looked up from her work. She had been studying the history files in the Ancient database for weeks by now, in the hope that they might save as much knowledge as humanly possible before the inevitable day, on which they’d have to destroy everything, would come. Granted, hand-written notes were less than effective, but they still meant that more computer storage capacity would be left to save _other_ data. Even if that place could only be counted in kilobytes. She had to be very selective, of course, looking for data of immediate importance for them, like facts concerning the rise and fall of the Genii Confederation. She couldn’t waste any time with mourning about all the things that would be irreparably lost, all too soon. Including Atlantis itself.

She let her look glide over the Gate Room with regret, though. It was large and light and airy, very obviously designed with both aesthetics and practicality in mind – which was all the more amazing if one remembered that it was also the command deck of a huge starship. It was hard to remember _that_ , considering that the ship truly had the size of a city. She rarely thought of Atlantis as a ship; understandably enough, as it wasn’t able to fly anymore. And the soft copper-coloured walls, inset with elaborate geometric patterns of stained glass, the open balconies, the graceful spires… it was simply easier to think of it as a city.

But whatever else Atlantis might be, it – _she_ , as the engineers preferred to talk about it – was beautiful. A marvel, both in its proportions and its functionality. It was bitter that they’d have to destroy it and all the knowledge it harboured. Even if they had no other choice, it was a criminal waste.

Unexpectedly, the Stargate started to dial up, and the alarm klaxons shook her awake from her brooding.

“Unscheduled off-world activation!” Gate technician Eddie Wong shouted, while Peter Grodin, who actually lived in tiny, single-room quarters adjoining the Gate Room, was already running to his duty station, wearing sweatpants and a black T-shirt with white letters announcing across his chest: _My girlfriend went to London and all I got was this lousy T-shirt_. Theresa wondered briefly if the man ever slept. Sometimes Peter was almost as bad as Rodney.

“Raise shield,” Grodin ordered, while the security team on second shift, a group of German _Bundeswehr_ soldiers, marched in and took defensive positions. “Do we have an IDC?”

Eddie Wong nodded. “It’s Lieutenant Ford’s team returning, sir.”

“Are they coming in hot?” Grodin asked.

Eddie shook his head. “Doesn’t seem so, sir. At least they’re not sending any alarm signals. But they weren’t supposed to return before the day after tomorrow, so something _must_ have gone wrong.”

Grodin looked up to Theresa. She nodded. Whatever had happened, they needed to get their people back. She just hoped they hadn’t run into the Wraith. Or the Genii. Or any other unfriendly locals. Those seemed to be present in a depressingly high number in the Pegasus galaxy.

“Very well,” Grodin said, “lower the shield.

The shimmering energy shield collapsed into itself, revealing the silvery-blue surface of the activated Gate. It was a sight Theresa could never tire of. In the next moment, the familiar shape of Jumper 3 glided through the event horizon – the mere fact that it came in slowly proving that there was no immediate danger – and the Gate shut down on its own. Both Lieutenant Lindstrom and Lieutenant Ford, who sat in the cockpit, seemed unharmed, albeit worried, through the front window.

Teresa activated her headset. “Lieutenant Ford, report. What happened?”

“It’s a long story, ma’am,” Ford’s tiny voice answered through her earpiece. “I think you need to call the leading staff and possibly the science department heads too, to the conference room. They all need to hear this – and see the evidence we’ve brought back.”

God, that sounded serious. Theresa felt a heavy weight in her stomach. But she needed to keep up a good front, so she ruthlessly stomped on her rising panic and gave extra care to speak in a calm, even voice.

“Very well,” she said. “Debriefing in thirty minutes. That should be enough for you to grab a shower and for everyone else to get there.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Half an hour later, everyone who in any way counted in Atlantis was gathered in the conference room. As usual, Sheppard brought his entire team (with the notable exception of Gunnery Sergeant Galindez) and McKay brought Zelenka. But Halling was also present, and Dr. Simpson had requested that they included Dr. Kavanagh, who’d been on countless off-world missions with SG-13 and might, in her opinion, be of assistance in this case. The heads of the various science departments and the leaders of the off-world teams made up the rest.

Aiden gave a brief summary of the first part of their mission, mentioning briefly the water-harbouring plants (which had lead botanist David Parrish in ecstatics) and how they had detected that they weren’t alone on M85-393.

“I called the jumper back, secured the collected samples, and went with the rest of the team to check out the strangers,” he then said. “When we reached the coordinates where the energy spike had come from, we found this.”

Projected onto one of the large overhead screens, _this_ was a mushroom-shaped device, fastened onto something cylindrical with four metallic ‘legs’. The cylindrical pedestal was decorated with inlaid patterns that might actually be keys or buttons.

“Seems familiar to anyone?” Ford asked. “I know I’ve seen something like that before, but…”

“Wait a minute!” Kavanagh interrupted. “I’m not sure, but isn’t this very much like that device on P2B-675?”

“Jamala’s planet,” Bates, a walking lexicon of early Stargate missions, supplied helpfully. “SG-1 visited it in the very first year of the whole project.”

McKay snapped with his fingers. “Wasn’t that the place where whatshisname from SG-9 went mad and declared himself God?”

“And killed half of his own team,” Theresa nodded. “Now I remember. It was a Goa’uld-dominated world where the slaves were protected by some sort of sun-shield technology to block the harmful rays.”

“And when the Goa’uld disappeared, supposedly as the result of the constant internal fighting for more power, the sun-shield was disabled because nobody know how to operate the generator,” Corrigan nodded. “The local population retreated into the caves of the valley they’d originally lived in, to protect themselves.”

“What became of the device?” Grodin asked.

“After SG-1 dealt with Captain Hansen, Major Carter and Teal’c managed to activate and engage the sun-shield, so that the people could leave a normal life again… at least within the valley,” Corrigan replied.

“And you really think this might be the same thing?” Sheppard, who hadn’t been with the SGC previous to the Atlantis expedition, asked doubtfully. “Seems a bit too much of a coincidence to me.”

“Not really,” Zelenka said. “We know that Goa’uld hardly ever created anything of their own. They usually work with stolen technology or what they found somewhere on abandoned or unprotected planets. Like Gate system itself or entire crystal-based technology. They modified things for their own purposes, yes, like turning healing device into sarcophagus, but discovering new things isn’t their forte.”

“Has anyone ever managed to reverse engineer these sun shield generators?” Major Vogel, also a Stargate project newbie, asked.

McKay shook his head. “The people of P2B-675, grateful though they were to Major Carter and her team, didn’t want anything to do with Earth humans again.”

“I guess it’s understandable, from their point of view,” Sevarion Kirkitadze, the head lawyer of Atlantis and Dr. Weir’s aide, said thoughtfully. “Could we possibly turn this generator on M85-393 on? We’ve got a small population; perhaps we could create a shielded area large enough for us.”

“It’s not that simple,” McKay said. “For starters, you need _two_ devices for the whole thing to work. According to the SGC’s technical database, when both are activated and engaged, some sort of orange beam is released. The two beams meet somewhere in the middle of the distance – and do I need to point out what level of technical development it requires to actually bend _light_? – creating thus a protective dome of pure energy. Solid objects can penetrate this shield, and it’s harmless for humans, but it filters the sunlight of all harmful sorts of radiation.”

“Seems handy to me,” Major Vogel said. “So, can you turn the thing on? Possibly even reverse-engineer it?”

McKay exchanged a doubtful look with Zelenka, his secret weapon in all practical things. The scruffy little Czech nodded, albeit a little uncertainly.

“We can try,” McKay answered reluctantly. “Given enough time, we might even manage it.”

“I’m afraid it won’t be possible, Dr. McKay,” Ford said. “Firstly, we only found one device. And what’s worse, we weren’t the first ones to find it.”

He forwarded the record, widening the focus, so that they could now all see the dozen or so people around the device. If they could be called people at all. Some of them were doubtlessly human, but one of the others was some furry animal, with beady eyes, tusks emerging from its ugly face, and long curved, vicious claws. Strangely enough, it walked around erect on its hind legs and wore a wide-cut orange robe and even a medal on a chain around its neck.

There was also a peculiar, grey-skinned humanoid in a coverall of the same hue as its skin, with a long, ridged chin that looked ridiculously like the ceremonial fake beards on the sarcophagus of almost every pharaoh. The rest were, well, it couldn’t be put any other way, bugs. They looked vaguely like ants with only four limbs, but they were man-sized (if that man was rather short and long-torsoed, that is) and… well, _colourful_. Three of them had bright emerald green carapaces, while the fourth one was deep blood red. They all carried weapons and wore tool belts (although not much else), so there could be no doubt whatsoever that they were, in fact, sentient beings.

Atlantis’ best and brightest were understandably shocked by the sight.

“So much about M85-393 being uninhabited and void of Ancient gizmos,” Sheppard commented, shooting Bates a baleful look.

“Actually, I don’t think these are native inhabitants,” Dr. Corrigan said hastily, before things could get ugly and Bates court-martialled for hitting an officer. “The humans most certainly aren’t. If you give their highly impractical uniform a closer look…”

“Hoffan militia,” Theresa Weir realized with a sinking feeling.

Corrigan nodded. “All of them, save from that really big guy in black; the one with the longish hair. We have no idea who – or _what_ – he might be.”

“Genii, based on that uniform,” Sheppard said. “It seems the Hoffans were quick to find allies that are every bit as ruthless as they are.”

“I wouldnae say that, Major,” Beckett corrected. “The Hoffans never harmed anyone but themselves. And they probably needed help to rebuild, after all those deaths.”

“Well, it’s their own damn fault,” Sheppard snapped. “ _We_ certainly did our best to hold them back.”

“True,” Beckett agreed, “and I’m not defending them. I’m just saying that since we’ve broken contact with them, they would need to seek out new, strong allies.”

“But not the Genii,” Halling spoke for the first time. “That man there is _not_ a Genii. The uniform may look similar, but it is not the same.”

“I agree,” Teyla said. “Neither have I ever seen a Genii this large. They are usually of average height at best. And that weapon he carries – I have never seen anything like that.”

“Looks vaguely like a staff weapon,” Major Lorne, the survivor of the one or other vicious Goa’uld attack, judged. “And it’s retractable, too, it seems,” he added, as the man on the record squeezed the middle of the staff, after which it snapped together to a foot in length or so. “Very practical – and nothing I have _ever_ seen before, either. What about you, Doc?” he looked at Kavanagh.

The scientist shook his head. “It seems too light to be an actual staff weapon anyway,” he said. “And it doesn’t have the typical head, either.”

“This might sound ridiculous,” Kirkitadze said slowly, “but considering that Goa’uld have modified Ancient tech for their own purposes for millennia, could we be looking at the original version of the staff weapon?”

“You mean that this guy might actually be an Ancient?” Corrigan asked, fighting very hard to suppress the urge to guffaw.

Kirkitadze shrugged. “Doctor Beckett has told me that the Ancients were the first… _edition_ of the human form. They surely looked human enough on the records.”

“True,” Corrigan replied, “but I seriously doubt that the big guy’s one of them. He very clearly had no idea what the shield generator was, and besides, why should an Ancient ally himself with the Hoffan militia and some strange bugs? Not to mention the local equivalent of a trained monkey?”

“Are you sure that the furry creature isn’t sentient?” Theresa Weir asked.

“It could be,” Corrigan admitted. “We were too far away to hear them talk, and didn’t dare to go any closer, in case we were discovered.”

“Couldn’t it be one of those, you know, Furling things?” McKay asked. “They used to be buddy-buddy with the Ancients, and that guy is certainly furry enough.”

Corrigan rolled his eyes. “Rodney, _Furling_ is an Ancient word and has nothing to do with what it sounds like in English. Besides, I hate to burst your bubble, but we do know what the Furlings were like. They were huge beings – ten feet or so – of pure light or energy that existed in a parallel dimension, at least partially.”

“Oh,” McKay nodded. “The creature on P7X-377. The one with the crystal skull device. The thing that used lepton radiation to teleport people to great distances.”

“Exactly,” Corrigan agreed. “The only other place we know they’d certainly lived is Utopia, but that was just a small outpost. We don’t really know what happened to the Furlings or why they’ve left our galaxy almost completely, but one thing is certain: they were _not_ furry little creatures, friendly or otherwise.”

“So, if the furry thing isn’t a Furling and the big guy isn’t an Ancient, what the hell _are_ they?” Michael Naseband, the German security chief of Atlantis, asked with a frown. “And what about the bugs?”

“I haven’t got the faintest idea,” Corrigan admitted. “The only sentient bugs the SGC had on record were the Re’etu, but they are, well, a lot more bug-like. Besides, they’re extremely xenophobic and would never willingly cooperate with other beings. These must belong to some Pegasus galaxy species we haven’t met yet. I mean, this is a whole _galaxy_ out there, and we’ve only visited a few dozen planets or so.”

“Could the bugs be native to M85-393?” Theresa Weir asked.

Ford shook his head. “We don’t think so, ma’am. After the little grey man who looks like he’d be a distant cousin of the Asgard had examined every single inch of the device, they all left together through the Stargate.”

“And you’ve followed them to see where they were going, of course,” Major Lorne grinned at him.

Ford grinned back. “Of course we have, sir. If one knows the arrangement of the keys on a DHD by heart, one doesn’t need to actually see the symbols to know which address is being dialled up.”

“That makes sense,” Lorne nodded. “And where did they go?”

“Back to Hoff,” Ford answered. “Considering the presence of the Hoffan militia, it wasn’t really surprising.”

“Perhaps not,” Major Vogel said. “It’s strange, though, that the Hoffans would be looking for uninhabited worlds to settle on. After having sacrificed half their people for the chance to remain exactly where they’ve always lived.”

Ford shrugged. “Perhaps they’re looking for their own Alpha site, in case the Wraith would react badly to the fact that they’ve become inedible.”

“That would be a wise precaution,” Vogel agreed. “And where does all this leave us?”

“If the Hoffans have staked their claim on the planet, we can’t do much,” Theresa Weir answered. “We might not agree with the methods they’ve chosen to fight the Wraith with, but ultimately, it was their decision. We have no right to deny them their own place of escape. We’ve a debt to all Pegasus galaxy humans, after all. A debt we won’t likely be able to pay any time soon… if ever.”

Kirkitadze nodded. “We need to give up M85-393, at least for the time being. We’ll see what we can do about it later. Perhaps the Hoffans don’t even wish to move there. But first and foremost, we need to establish our own Alpha site to begin with the evacuation. We’re running out of time.”

“Do you have a suggestion?” Theresa Weir asked.

“I suggest M1K-439, the planet with the many waterfalls,” Kirkitadze replied. “Major Sheppard’s team hasn’t found anything harmful or suspicious in the first survey, and Sergeant Stackhouse’s latest trip was successful in locating areas with fertile soil. Halling here says that it’s well suited for agriculture.”

“Good, let’s begin the preparations immediately,” Theresa Weir looked at Bates. “Sergeant, I leave this in your capable hands.”

Bates nodded simply. There wasn’t much to say. After all, everyone knew that he _was_ the best man for that sort of job.

“Lieutenant Ford,” Dr. Weir continued, “I want you to make another short trip to M85-393 before we leave Atlantis.”

“What for, ma’am?” Ford asked in surprise.

“We need to know whenever the Hoffans and their new allies return to the place,” she explained. “I’m sure that Dr. Zelenka can mcgyver together something similar to the Wraith marker. Something that will send a signal whenever someone – _anyone_ – opens the Stargate on that planet.”

“Wouldn’t it alert the Wraith as well?” Ford asked in concern.

“Not if I set marker to send signal on frequency Wraith don’t use and we place relay unit hidden among orbital debris,” Zelenka replied. “Is minor problem. I’ll solve it in a day.”

“Good,” Dr. Weir said. “In that case, this meeting is adjourned. We all have a lot of work to do and very little time to get it done. I’ll see you tomorrow in the next staff meeting.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
The others filed out of the conference room slowly, leaving her alone with Kirkitadze. The lawyer looked at her in askance. They’d worked together on several international projects during the last decade, but never had he seen her so grave before.

“Is something wrong?” he asked. “I mean, beyond the obvious?”

She shrugged with an uncertainty that was not at all characteristic for her. Usually, she was a determined woman with clear goals before her eyes and with at least two ways planned in advance how to achieve those goals. “No… yes,” she said, rubbing her eyes in frustration. After a moment of silence, she asked. “Sevarion, have you ever thought about… have you ever asked yourself whether we were right to abandon the Hoffans?”

“Not really,” Kirkitadze replied with a shrug. “What else could we have done? They’ve committed genocide on their own people! Are you second-guessing our decision?”

“Sometimes,” she admitted. “I mean, what right do we have to judge them? We’ve just arrived in this galaxy, and the first thing we did was to wake up the Wraith!”

“That wasn’t deliberate,” Kirkitadze said.

“I know,” she answered, “but what do the best intentions have to do with the horrible outcome? Whole planets are culled every day all across this galaxy, and regardless our intentions, we’ve started it. Before, the people had generations between cullings. Now the entire galaxy has become a slaughterhouse, and we are not without fault in that development. What does give us the right to judge the Hoffans for being desperate enough to take horrible risks? We’re new here. Who knows what we’ll be willing to risk… what we’ll be willing to _do_ , after we’ve been here long enough and become desperate enough?”

“I don’t know,” Kirkitadze replied thoughtfully. “I can only hope that we’ve learned from the Hoffan disaster that the end results don’t _always_ justify the means.”

“I wonder,” she said slowly. “I mean, we’re just a small expedition, isolated in a foreign galaxy. Our homes, our people aren’t immediately threatened by the Wraith. We’re willing to destroy Atlantis and even ourselves if we have to, just to keep Earth safe. Is there really such a big difference?”

“The difference is the number of the dead,” Kirkitadze said.

“They all volunteered,” she reminded him. “They all knew the risks. Sometimes I feel that we should be less patronizing with the locals, just because we have better technology at our disposal. That we should try to understand them better, to learn from them instead. Even if we decide that we don’t agree with them, after all.”

“That might spare us similar mistakes,” Kirkitadze agreed and wrapped his arms around her as she turned to look out at the balcony. “I’m sure you’ll eventually find a way to do so. You’re a smart woman… and a determined one.”

She sighed and leaned back against his solid bulk. His presence, his friendship of many years helped her to ground herself in times like this.

“I’m so very tired, Sevarion,” she admitted. “When I accepted this position, I didn’t expect to have an all-out war on my hands after the first week or so.”

“You’ll manage,” Kirkitadze replied simply. “You are stronger than you think. I trust your abilities; you should trust them, too.”

“I’m trying,” she laughed without true mirth, “but it’s not easy, you know.”

“I know,” the lawyer said. “Come, I’ll make you tea; real tea, not that Athosian stuff. I might put the brass kettle of my great-grandmother to good use as long as we still have the time.”


	12. Dead Planet Ahead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first chapter with footnotes. I’ll try not to make it a custom, I swear. Remember, this happens before the Atlantis crew would meet Ronon Dex.
> 
> Beta read by erinnyes, thanks.

**CHAPTER 11 – DEAD PLANET AHEAD**

Stepping through the Stargate was nothing like Tyr had experienced before. _Unsettling_ would have been one good world to describe it. _Incredible_ would have been another one. He hadn’t decided yet which one would fit better.

The Hoffans, to their credit, had warned him that the first trip through the Gate could be… strange. But _strange_ couldn’t even begin to describe the light, the feeling of weightless spinning in a vortex of colour, like in the inside of an old-fashioned kaleidoscope, the flipping up and down and end over end, like a one-man fighter in a Level 6 solar storm, the icy cold that felt as if it would shatter his very bones, the dizziness… He wondered if getting sucked into slipstream without a ship would feel anything like this.

Weren’t he a big, hulking Alpha, he’d have fallen to his knees and thrown up, as soon as he stumbled out of the Gate on the other side. Big, hulking Alpha as he was – he very nearly did so anyway. Officer Goral, who happened to lead their scouting team, looked at him in understanding.

“Everyone feels like throwing up at the first time,” he said. “But the effect only lasts for a short while, and once you know what to expect, your body actually gets used to it. I’ve grown to enjoy these travels through the Gate after the first few times.”

“You must be insane,” Tyr growled.

The Hoffan simply shook his prematurely aged head. “No, no,” he assured, “it’s really getting better and better each time. As if you’d grown into doing it the right way… or as if the Gate would adapt to each new traveller gradually.”

Well, if it was intelligent technology, it might be even possible, Tyr decided. The whole thing was so unbelievable to begin with, why would such a minor detail be more surprising than the rest? And the thought that he wouldn’t have to feel sick every time was actually comforting.

When he felt steady enough to turn away from the Stargate and take a look around, he felt the urge to throw up again. Death and destruction were nothing new for him; they had been his companions since the age of sixteen. He’d seen more devastated places than he cared to count. He’d long gotten used to the sight.

Why, then, did he feel an equal amount of rage and regret – both considered wasted emotions by his people – when he took in the ruins of what once had been a large and thriving city? Was it because the Satedans’ dogged – and ultimately doomed – resistance reminded him of the massacre on his own Pride? Or was it because he felt it a criminal waste that a strong, attractive and valiant people, which, if Liave Kassai was any indication, the Satedans must have been, had fallen victim to an army of greedy monsters that were every bit as bad as the Magog?

Sure, they’d fallen fighting to the last man. But they’d still fallen, and no amount of respect from an outsider could make them alive again.

Just as Barbarossa Anasazi would never rise from the death to take revenge on his murderers. Just as his wives and children and brothers and sisters and their children and spouses would remain dead and forgotten, no matter what. Lost, all lost, save for Tyr, the last Kodiak in four galaxies (if one counted the current one), his proud heritage damaged and laced with the DNA of monsters.

Life could be truly bizarre sometimes.

Tyr shook his head to pull himself together again. This was not the time to brood. They had a survey to do, and the ruined city right in front of them had uncounted possibilities for an ambush. He needed to be on high alert, all the time. It was unlikely that the Wraith would return to a dead planet, the Hoffans had said, but Tyr wouldn’t put it beyond them to leave some kind of alarm system behind, so that they’d know if any potential survivors tried to return.

Liave Kassai knew of no survivors. But Tyr knew from first-hand experience that even the most carefully executed genocide is seldom complete. People, whatever race they might belong to, tended to cling to life stubbornly, and they often found highly creative ways to survive.

“You should leave two people at the Gate to watch it,” he said to officer Goral. “And to look out for any possible Wraith devices."

“You mean markers?” the Hoffan asked.

“So you know about the possibility,” Tyr said.

The Hoffan nodded. “Of course. They leave such devices on many worlds where they hope to find rich feeding grounds – or have unfinished business. We’ve learnt how to recognize and destroy these markers, but if there are any, we must be swift. Once a marker gives a signal, the nearest Wraith ship follows the call immediately.”

One had to give the monsters that: they were thorough.

“Very well,” Tyr said. “Let us go and see what we might find – and quickly.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Aboard the _Andromeda_ , the human crewmembers (and passengers) were having tea. Well, to be precise, Freya and the two Hoffan women were having tea; Beka was having fruit nectar (even though she’d have preferred something alcoholic, but she was currently having command, so she had to hold back), while Harper was busily introducing Leuk Kassai to Sparky Cola.

For a boy of only eleven, Leuk was surprisingly tall and broad-shouldered, with dark skin, curly jet-black hair, wide, curious coffee brown eyes and an intellect that was matched only by his insatiable curiosity. He and Harper had become as thick as thieves within hours, and while in the same room as the rest, they had retreated into the farthest corner and were completely immersed in their private little world full of starships, fancy technology, virtual reality and such things. Computers were a thing largely unknown for Hoffans, but the boy had understood the basics quickly enough, and was now totally enthralled by the entertaining possibilities.

The ladies in the meantime were discussing Nietzschean customs. The Hoffans had started the topic, but Beka was at least as intrigued as they were and used the chance to learn more about the Übers. Things that no outsider could hope to learn. She was a bit surprised that Freya would be willing to share these things at all, but she must have had her own agenda in this. Niets never did anything without a reason.

“Among Nietzscheans, the choice is always by the woman,” Freya explained carefully, not revealing anything but what was absolutely necessary. “When we select a mate, our prime purpose is to create genetically superior children, for the furtherance of our Pride and, most specifically, for the furtherance of the bloodline from which we spring(1). As my own bloodline is a very old and proud one, I have chosen Tyr, who is of a similar line, though of a different Pride. That is why desired Alphas have many wives: we are ready to share, in order to secure their superior genes for our offspring.”

“And the males?” Ms Capec asked. “Have they no choice at all?”

“They can accept our offer or refuse it,” Freya replied. “But they rarely refuse. The main goal of every Nietzschean male is to become a husband and a father. The duty of every Alpha is to spread his genes as widely as possible, leaving his stamp on numerous offspring. We do not believe in any kind of afterlife; this is the only immortality that each of us can hope for. The worth and status of a male is messed on the number of his wives and children. Thus all males thrive on the constant competition, to prove their genetic worth to any suitable mates and be chosen by them. _We_ do not have to do anything; the universe presents our males with suitable challenges. We can lean back, watch the spectacle and make our choice.”

“But what about love?” Liave Kassai asked. “What about passion?”

“I am not entirely sure what humans mean when they talk about love,” Freya answered with an elegant shrug, “but there is a great deal of passion involved. Our mates do their utmost to prove their worth to us; and we are loyal to them, as long as they are useful and fulfil their duties in our beds. But our children are the ones to whom we are utterly devoted, not their fathers.”

“Strange,” Beka commented. “I always had the impression that you and Tyr are very much devoted to each other. Both of you.”

“We are,” Freya said. “But ours is no ordinary case. We have a strong personal alliance, with the shared purpose to recreate Kodiak Pride between us.”

“Aren’t two people a little small in numbers for that?” Beka asked cynically.

Freya nodded. “Of course they are. But we do not intend to remain a twosome couple forever.”

“But where do you plan to find other wives for him?” Ms Capec asked. “I’ve never heard of your people on any of the planets our folk has ever visited.”

“That is true,” Freya said. “This galaxy is new for Nietzscheans. However, Tyr’s genes are strong enough to beget genetically superior children, even with ordinary humans. And besides, there is always the possibility of conversion(2).”

“Conversion?” Ms Kassai repeated with a frown. “What does _that_ mean?”

“Genetic adaptation and engineering,” Freya explained matter-of-factly. “It is a delicate process that we rarely employ, for it is not entirety without risk – especially for adults. It is done only when our numbers are depleted. _This_ would be such a case.”

“Wait a minute!” Beka interrupted. “Are you telling me that – in theory – I could become a Nietzschean if I wanted?”

Freya shook her head. “Not you, Captain Valentine, I am afraid. You have already taken too much damage, due to the insufficient shielding of your ship. But yes, in theory it is possible for a human to become a Nietzschean – with the help of a skilled geneticist and if they are strong and healthy. Actually, the younger they are, the better the chance that the changes would take without damaging them. But there have been numerous adults known to have successfully converted during our history.”

“Really?” Beka asked, not showing any particular regret that the chance of becoming a Nietzschean would be denied her. “Can you give me names? Preferably well-known ones?”

“I fear not,” Freya said. “It is extremely rare that a convert would be allowed to keep any part of their old lives, including their names. One has to be a truly extraordinary person to earn that honour.”

“Why should anyone wish to convert then, if they have to give up everything from their past?” Ms Kassai asked.

“For a new start,” Freya replied. “They are usually people who have lost everything already and wanted to forget their losses and begin their lives anew.”

Liave Kassai nodded thoughtfully. “I can see the attraction in _that_. But what about converted children or youths? They can’t already wish for a brand new start, can they?”

“Not as a rule, they cannot,” Freya agreed. “Those are usually orphans who show great potential. They are adopted by Nietzschean families who are in need of new family members. As a rule, a few genes of the Pride are added to the convert’s genetic make-up, to make him or her _blood_ , but otherwise they are considered valuable additions to the gene pool.”

“And you really think you’re gonna find people in the Pegasus galaxy who’d be interested on sprouting bone blades?” Beka asked doubtfully.

Freya smiled into her tea like someone who knew something that was kept hidden from the others yet. 

“I am fairly sure that some will see the attraction,” she said.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
The abandoned chief city of Sateda reminded Tyr of historic records from twentieth or twenty-first century Earth. Most buildings were made of some sort of red brick and had originally been four to six storeys high. But here and there skyscrapers of at least twenty storeys rose from the general cityscape, built of glass and concrete. And even though most of them were ruined, due to the thorough bombing several years earlier, there could be no doubt that Sateda had been at least a century ahead of Hoff where technical development was concerned.

Not that it had done them any good, of course.

The scouting party walked along a broad street, lined with half-destroyed houses that might once have been five or so storeys high. It was eerily silent around them, just like when the landing team of the _Andromeda_ had first visited Hoff’s chief city… and yet it was different. The Hoffan city had seemed as if frozen in time. Sateda was utterly, irrevocably dead.

They dodged heaps of debris and broken stone and tried to avoid walking under parts of concrete bridges or stairways that hung in a broken angle from above, where perhaps vehicles of transportation had once crossed the street. The streets, left and right, displayed a depressing monotony of rubble and destruction; in fact, they all seemed the same, despite the varied height – or varied stage of destruction – of the individual buildings.

“We shouldn’t lose our sense of direction,” officer Goral said in concern. “Are sure that we still know where the Gate is?”

Tyr was _reasonably_ sure that he did – as a rule, Nietzscheans had a very good sense of direction – but double-checking could never hurt. Looking around, he discovered an external ladder up the side of one of the taller buildings that had miraculously survived the bombing. It was surrounded by a narrow steel basket to prevent the climber from falling and led directly to the flat roof of the house. That gave him the idea.

“We should climb up and take a look around,” he suggested.

Officer Goral looked at the long, impractical militia uniform coats, then at the narrow climbing space, and sighed. Tyr rolled his eyes. These people really needed to learn how to dress for a trip like this.

“Fine,” he growled, “I will go.” He swung his oversized rifle onto his back and climbed up to the roof. He counted eight storeys on his way, but he was fit like a Makra; serving aboard the _Andromeda_ got one used to climbing ladders all the time.

From the flat roof, he had a great sight at the city. It was completely abandoned. Nothing stirred anywhere within his eyesight – and Nietzscheans had generally very good eyes – save the two Hoffan soldiers at the Stargate, several blocks away. He had remembered the direction correctly, of course. Just to make sure that he hadn’t overlooked anything, he took the High Guard-issue field glasses he’d borrowed from one of _Andromeda_ ’s weapons' chambers and searched his surroundings meticulously. There was still no sign of any life. Just burned-out buildings and rubble. He looked around for a second time, and then climbed down again.

“Everything seems to be dead,” he told the Hoffans, “and I was right about the direction of the Gate. We should move on.”

“Move on, but where?” Officer Goral asked. “Do you have any suggestions?”

Tyr shrugged. “Not really. Any direction would be as good as the others. Just let us not get too far from the Gate.”

The Hoffan nodded. “Small circle it is.”

They searched a few buildings but found nothing aside from broken furniture and household items. It seemed that the lower buildings had been simply homes. They climbed up and down several stairways to taller buildings and bridges but still found nothing. Finally, right above a hatch on the ground, Tyr’s metal detector began to buzz frantically.

“There is something below,” Tyr said. “We should check it out.”

“I’ll go with you,” Officer Goral decided, stripping off his long coat and throwing it to one of his men. “Open that hatch!”

Two of the younger soldiers obeyed, and Tyr and Goral climbed down the metal ladder that was hidden below. They came to a long underground corridor that must have been part of the city’s canalisation system but had most likely been turned into some sort of hiding place in the last, desperate days of Satedan resistance. It was dark and damp and generously strewn with skeletal bodies, all of them wearing the remains of some kind of military uniform. Including chest armour made of hard leather or metal.

“It hinders the Wraith in the feeding,” Goral explained grimly, “at least for a while.”

“An ingenious idea,” Tyr said.

Not that it had done the Satedans much good, either.

“They are still holding their rifles,” the Hoffan said, gesturing towards the corpses. “Perhaps we should…”

Tyr nodded. “Collect all pistols, rifles and ammunition that you can find,” he said, “and call more of your men down to bring them back up.”

“What about you?” Goral asked.

“I will look for reserve ammunition,” Tyr replied. “There must be some, if the soldiers retreated to this place. There could not be any other reason to come to such a rat-trap.”

He proved right. After some search – he didn’t really know _what_ exactly to look for, after all – he finally came into a small room on the side. It was packed with grey metal boxes, each box full of ammunition belts.

“I have found it!” he called out to Goral. “Your men should start carrying these to the Stargate. The weapons, too; we cannot know when we might have to flee from this planet.”

When they arrived at the Stargate, the Hoffan guards they’d left behind had unpleasant news for them.

“We’ve found a marker,” one of them said.

“How long till the Wraith get here?” Tyr asked.

“That’s hard to say,” the guard answered. “Not too long, though. They monitor their markers very closely. We should return home, as long as we still can.”

“It’s too late,” Goral said. “The Gate is coming to life.”

Tyr frowned. “Which means…?”

“We can’t activate the Gate until the sequence from the outside is completed,” Goral explained. “Only one travel at a time is possible, and only in one direction.”

“That is… inconvenient,” Tyr said.

The Hoffan nodded. “Whoever is coming through – and it’s most likely the Wraith – we can’t prevent it. We must shoot their ships down while they’re still unaware of our identity, or we’re lost.”

Tyr selected a few of the biggest and meanest-looking rifles for the Hoffan soldiers (not that any of them would have been a match of his, of course) and recognizing the trigger with an experienced eye, showed the men how to use them.

“These things must pack quite the punch,” he said. “Aim carefully, and be not surprised if the weapon kicks back. Rifles like these usually do, until you get used to them. Hide everything else behind those ruins, quickly!”

“Opening sequence complete!” one of the soldiers shouted, while the others were following the Nietzschean’s instructions.

The Stargate swooshed open with the usual burst of silvery-blue energy. Three small, sleek ships, silver and black and pointed like bayonets, surged through the puddle that now filled the middle of the Gate. The Hoffans fired in accord, as soon as the ships emerged, hitting two of them repeatedly. Though they hadn’t taken serious enough hits to explode on the spot, they nonetheless spiralled down, pulling a long trail of smoke after them, and hit the ground with an earth-shattering impact.

The third ship took a sharp U-turn and swooped down, directly at them, like a vulture, a triangular white beam coming from its underside and sweeping the ground in a wide angle.

“Culling beam!” Officer Goral shouted. “Keep out of its way!”

The Hoffans scattered in all directions, giving the enemy ridiculously easy targets. Deciding to do something about their woefully inadequate training as soon as they were back on their planet, Tyr raised his multiple-barrelled rifle to his shoulder and aimed carefully, waiting for the right moment. Superior Nietzschean hand-eye coordination did the rest. Exactly eight seconds later, the third ship went down and exploded into a spectacular fireball as soon as it hit ground.

Superior hand-eye coordination was a good thing. Superior firepower was better. Much better.

On the other hand, being supernaturally tough and notoriously hard to kill had its advantages, too. Or so it seemed.

Tyr hadn’t had any preconceptions about the Wraith. Sure, he’d been told what they generally looked like (which sounded ridiculous enough, but once one had seen a Nightsider, one stopped to wonder about the fashion sense of other races) and what one could expect from them. But no amount of description could have prepared him for the nightmarish creature that emerged from the scarred shards of its ships, badly wounded and bleeding all over the place, and yet charging at him directly, its long, walling white hair and coat swirling in the hot wind of destruction.

For a nanosecond, Tyr froze; and that nanosecond almost became his doom. Because the creature was incredibly fast, despite its injuries. It was upon him before he could have fired his weapon again. Without his superior reflexes, he’d have been lost. Luckily for him, he was a Nietzschean, though, possessing a strength and a speed that matched those of the Wraith.

He didn’t think that the creature would be able to feed from him through the chain mail that he wore under the padded jacket, but he saw no reason for taking any risks. So he dropped to the floor, bringing the Wraith to fall with that simple trick, and rolled onto his feet again with the same move, all the time keeping out of reach. The Wraith roared in fury and charged again, his intention clearly to kill, not to feed. Tyr whirled around, his bone blades snapping erect, and he slammed them into the creature’s unprotected neck with full force. Utilizing the same altitude to spin the Wraith around, so that it wouldn’t be able to use its feeding organ, he threw it to the ground, face-down, and jumped onto its back, landing heavily and breaking its spinal column in at least two places.

These Wraith might have unusual regenerative abilities, but it was a general law of biology that the severing of the spinal column would cripple most beings permanently. Still, he didn’t want to give the… _thing_ a chance to recover any time later. Remembering Harper’s half-serious comment that beheading would be the best way to kill vampires, he pulled out his biggest knife (almost a foot long and razor sharp, as always), and, grabbing the Wraith’s hair, he cut its throat deeply enough to severe its neck vertebrae as well.

“Try to recover from _that_!” he told the still twitching corpse, crushing the hand with the feeding organ under his heavy boots.

The Hoffans, who’d been watching the fight with bated breath, finally awoke from their petrification.

“Search the ships!” Officer Goral shouted. “Kill the pilots, should any of them have survived. If they manage to activate their self-destruct device so close to all this ammunition, it will tear us to pieces.”

The following swift and efficient executions impressed the hell out of Tyr. These Hoffans showed no sign of that hypocritical attitude that had always annoyed him so much in Dylan Hunt and the likes of him. The Hoffans knew who their enemy was, knew that they could expect no mercy of their enemy – and they saw no reason to _show_ their enemy any mercy, either.

The Wraith themselves made Tyr feel more than just a little sick. Not because of their looks, although admittedly, they reminded him of the cheap graphic novels and horror movies both Beka and Harper preferred to any serious cultural achievement. No; it was the blatant greed in the creature’s eyes that made him shiver: greed for his life, for his strength, greed to take from him in mere moments what he’d achieved through long years of struggle.

Although Nietzscheans considered the devil just as dead as any gods they might have heard during the entire history of their race, Tyr admitted that _if_ the devil existed, it might have striking similarities with the Wraith. He’d have liked to bring at least one of the corpses back with them, to have the chance to study it aboard the _Andromeda_ – knowing one’s enemy was the beginning of victory, after all – but there was no time for that.

“We should hurry up,” Officer Goral urged them. “The Wraith don’t need the Gate to reach this planet. They have hive ships as large as this entire city. If the small ships don’t return in time, they’ll come to look after them. Start the opening sequence and make everything ready to return home.”

One of the soldiers began to dial up the Gate, while the other picked the metal boxes with ammo up, ready to toss them through. Tyr gathered all the scattered Wraith weapons. They seemed to be energy-based, and he was sure he’d be able to figure out how they worked… eventually.

“Energy weapons might not be your best choice yet,” he explained to Officer Goral. “But I think Harper would be interested to play with them a little.”

The Gate reopened. The Hoffan soldiers tossed the ammo boxes through the blue puddle and threw after them the gathered Satedan weapons and chest armours as well. Then they marched through.

“I hope our scientists can figure out how to build more of these things,” Officer Goral said when they came through on the other side. “Because I don’t think that we’d have another chance to visit Sateda. The Wraith will watch the planet closely in the future.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Chief Dirige surveyed the weapons they’d brought back with them contently.

“Finally, we’ll have better means to protect ourselves from the Wraith,” he said with grim satisfaction.

“I don’t know, Orum,” Chancellor Druhin said quietly. “They didn’t save the Satedans, did they? Although the Satedans had a great many of them at their disposal; more than we could ever hope to produce, even if we devoted all our time and resources to the making of weapons. Which I’m not willing to do.”

“We can’t fight the Wraith with throwing stones!” Dirige protested.

“That’s true,” the chancellor said, “but in the end, we don’t have the means to destroy them all, and _that_ would be the only way to save ourselves. We can’t sacrifice everything we’ve achieved: culture, science, art, any higher agendas, in the vague hope that one day we might erase the entire race of these monsters. It’s not going to happen, and we both know that.”

“So, what are you planning to do?” Dirige demanded angrily.

The chancellor shrugged. “First, we deal with the Purists. Then, we set a few chemists and engineers on the project of making enough weapons to arm the militia. If we manage that, we can afford to take the time to finally reorganize the government. People need to return to their lives, sooner or later. Preferably sooner.”

“Do you think that anything would remain the same as it used to be before… before the vaccine?” Dirige asked.

“No,” the chancellor said. “I actually hope for something better.”

The chief of the militia shook his head ruefully. “I wish I had your faith,” he said. “But I fear that the time of our trials hasn’t ended yet, despite our efforts to break the circle of destruction.”

“Perhaps not,” Druhin admitted. “But for the first time ever, we’ve got allies. Strong ones.”

“We may have them now, but for how long?” Dirige asked. “The _Andromeda_ is leaving, and we’ll be as vulnerable against an attack from above as we’ve ever been.”

“I didn’t mean the _Andromeda_ ,” the chancellor said. “Before they left for the planet with the two suns, one of the bug people – the red one, to be accurate – gave me a recorded message from their leader. They offer us an alliance, independently from Captain Hunt.”

“An… alliance,” Dirige repeated slowly. “How many of them are there to begin with?”

“Only ten for now,” Druhin answered, “but apparently, there will be hundreds of them within two months. They are right before spawning, and their offspring is numerous, or so they say. They have the knowledge, they have the technology, and they’ll soon have the numbers, too. If I understand correctly, their society is divided into different castes, which can be recognized by the individual’s colour. The red one is a technician and can fly a starship. The green ones are warriors… soldiers, in our terms. There are brown ones aboard the _Andromeda_ : builders and workers; and a blue one who’s a scientist. Their leader is all white. She said she can influence the division among the offspring, and that they’ll breed more warriors for a while.”

“And what’s the catch?” Dirige asked. “They’re not offering their help out of the goodness of their hearts, are they? Assuming they have one.”

“They want the planet with the twin suns, Druhin replied. “The conditions won’t bother them, and the place would be ideal for their spawn. They’re willing to share, though. Apparently, in their home galaxy they live together with humans on many planets. And that way we could have a safe place to escape – just in case.”

Just in case the Wraith would return with full force to destroy their rebellious herd on Hoff.

“Do you really believe they can be trusted?” Dirige asked doubtfully.

The chancellor shrugged. “I know that Mr. Harper works closely with the brown ones and Captain Hunt allows the red one to fly his ship. Mr. Anasazi seems to get along well enough with the green soldiers, too, so I assume this is normal where they come from.”

“Speaking of Mr. Anasazi,” Dirige said, “he might not react well if he learns that we’ve chosen to ally ourselves with the bug people instead of him.”

“Mr. Anasazi strikes me as the ultimate pragmatist,” the chancellor replied. “He will certainly understand that it’s better for us to have an alliance with a strong group than with only one man, no matter how strong he might be. Besides, the two things aren’t mutually exclusive. We’re not turning against him when we accept the offer of the bug people.”

“We can’t keep call them ‘the bug people’, though,” Salia Boulée injected. “Had they ever named their species?”

“Than,” Torval, the chancellor’s young aide, answered. “They call themselves the Than-Thre-Kull, but one of the green gentlemen – or ladies? – said that Than would suffice.”

“Gentlemen or ladies?” Dirige asked.

“According to Mr. Harper, neither… or both, just like the Perseids,” Torval replied. “For some reason, though, people seem to refer to Perseids as _he_ , while they generally refer to Than as _she_. It’s strange.”

“Those Perseids don’t look all too feminine, so it’s understandable, I guess,” Dirige shrugged. “But again, neither do the bug people… I mean, the Than,” he corrected himself hurriedly.

“It probably comes from the insect analogy,” Salia Boulée said. “With some society-building insects the majority of the workers are male, though infertile. The leaders are female. That makes the projection easy.”

“You’re looking forward to working with them, aren’t you?” Dirige asked.

She nodded. “Of course I do. I’m a biologist, and I’ve worked as a contact specialist ever since I started my political career. I don’t doubt that this is going to be a fascinating alliance.”

“Are you suggesting that we accept their offer then?” the chancellor asked.

She nodded again. “We need to come out of our isolation; and having allies who need us as much as we need them is always a promising thing.”

The chancellor looked around at his other advisors. “Are we all in agreement about this?”

Everyone nodded, but it was Varria who actually spoke out loud what they all were thinking. “What can we lose? At the worst a planet we couldn’t use anyway.”

“Very well, then,” Druhin said. “I’ll send a positive message to this Diamond Than.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Chancellor Druhin’s message wasn’t the only thing sent to the _Andromeda_ when Dylan, Tyr, Rev Bem, and the Than returned on the _Maru_. Rekeeb sent Harper one of the newest _sonograph_ prototypes, complete with blueprints and descriptions as well as a copy of everything he’d recorded on the planet. And the rest of Ms Kassai’s and Ms Capec’s belongings had been packed into boxes and sent after them, too. The two seemed to have burned all bridges behind them, ready to begin a new life aboard the great warship. It showed a great spirit of adventure, especially for someone of Ms Capec’s age. Middle-aged Hoffan women usually retreated into family life. Of course, many of them had lost their families to the vaccine, so the usual rules not always worked in these days.

“If they – or the _kludge_ doctor – manage to heal you, you should consider Liave as a potential Second Wife,” Frey said, after Tyr had finished describing to her Sateda (or what was left from it) and the fight with the Wraith. “She is strong, intelligent and healthy. She will have excellent children.”

“She is beautiful, too,” Tyr agreed. “The Satedans must have been a remarkable race. They have achieved much, despite the Wraith threat. Do you believe she might be interested?”

“She is alone,” Freya pointed out. “Her time to procreate is running short. She had sacrificed her own interests for those of her people and her brother. That is commendable, but no longer necessary. This might be her last chance to build a life for herself; and she is smart enough to realize that.”

“True, but would she be interested in _me_?” Tyr asked doubtfully. He knew himself to be highly desirable for Nietzschean women, but other races had different preferences.

Freya smiled tolerantly. “Tyr, _every_ woman is interested in you; and so are a lot of men, too, by the way. I cannot tell you whether Liave is interested in your _person_ already, but trust me: she appreciates your looks. Besides, she showed definite interest in conversion. Right now, it is pure curiosity, I think; she is a geneticist, after all. But if we play our cards right, she might not only choose you as her husband but also grab the chance to become one of us.”

“This assuming that she would be able to heal me, that is,” Tyr said.

Freya nodded. “But even if it comes to the worst, you could always adopt her little brother and make _him_ one of us,” she said. “I think Liave would be in favour. Our strength would give a boy a better chance to survive.”

“Perhaps,” Tyr allowed. “The boy is certainly fierce and strong for an eleven-year-old, he would find it difficult to adapt to Hoffan society… and to Sateda, there will be no return for many years yet to come.”

“Are you really sure that the planet is dead?” Freya asked. She knew as well as Tyr did that people sometimes could survive the worst sort of things, despite appearances.

“Not as in a nuclear wasteland, and many buildings are still standing or only damaged,” Tyr replied. “I am certain that, in theory, it could be repopulated. But there are no living people as far as I could see; and the Wraith had marked the place. Whenever the Stargate is opened, the device will alert them, and they will come to check. We managed to shoot down three of their small ships, but only because they had not expected any resistance. I would not risk to return there for quite some time.”

Freya nodded thoughtfully. “That leaves Hoff as our best choice, unless we manage to find those _kludges_ the chancellor was speaking of, then,” she said.

“For the moment, definitely,” Tyr agreed. “But I am not sure that even with the help of Satedan weapons – and the proper training I would be able and willing to provide – they had a chance against the Wraith. Not after I have seen what those ships are capable of. The Hoffans say that their motherships – _hive_ ships they are called – are of the size of a city.”

“Are you saying that they cannot be beaten?” Freya asked with a disapproving frown.

“No,” Tyr said. “I am saying that the only way to beat them would be to destroy their hive ships. You cannot fight an airborne foe while standing in the dirt and expect to win.”

“Could _Andromeda_ beat one of those hive ships?” Freya, practical as always, went for the details immediately.

Tyr shrugged. “Perhaps. I certainly hope so, or we are in trouble. But I cannot tell for sure until I have seen one of them: their manoeuvrability, their weapons… not even Harper can make an educated guess. There are too many unknown factors. We will have to try, though, if we ever want to be reasonably safe in this galaxy.”

“What if we tried a different approach?” Freya suggested. “What about an alliance with these Wraith? They are doubtlessly he dominant species in this galaxy; the top of the food chain. Why ally ourselves with the food?”

“Because you cannot ally yourself with the Wraith any more than you can with the Magog,” Tyr replied simply. “You might be the last to be eaten, but you _will_ be eaten, all the same.”

“The crew of the _Maru_ have allied themselves with Reverend Behemial,” Freya pointed out, playing devil’s advocate. “It seems to work well enough.”

“Rev Bem is an exception, an anomaly,” Tyr replied. “But even so, he is a ticking time bomb. I have told you about the worldship; he _did_ enjoy the killing then, even though it was his own kind. There are no guarantees… and there would be none with a Wraith ally, either. As long as they have to eat and you are food, every alliance would be a farce.”

The door buzzer interrupted their discussion. Ms Kassai came in, with her large doctor’s bag in her hand.

“Time for your next injection, Mr. Anasazi,” she announced, producing a rather large syringe. “Please drop your pants and bend over the next available surface.”

Tyr obeyed but not without growling. “You enjoy this way too much, lady! I wonder if it truly has to be delivered this way.”

“Actually, fertility medicine _has_ to be injected into the gluteus maximus,” she replied matter-of-factly, and rammed the needle into his buttock. “Although I won’t deny that I enjoy the sight,” she added, grinning at Freya, who grinned back in complete agreement. Women could be every bit as dirty-minded as men when it came to the finer assets of the opposite gender, and Tyr’s assets were undoubtedly worth admiring. After all, Nietzschean males had been bred for generations to please the female eye.

Nietzschean males were also used to displaying their assets – albeit admittedly under more dignified circumstances – to genetically desirable females, in the hope that she would choose them as her husband. Being ogled at with appreciation wasn’t an unknown situation for Tyr… or one that would embarrass him as a rule. But having a woman stare at his bare ass while trying to cure his _infertility_ – that was every Nietzschean Alpha’s worst nightmare.

Tyr refastened his skin-tight leather pants with a scowl, trying to ignore the grinning women. Somehow he found the similar-mindedness of them a bit… disturbing. Had they both been his wives, their working and thinking in such complete agreement would greatly honour him as their husband. But the geneticist was still a stranger…

“Can I at least hope that I am not enduring this indignity for nothing?” he growled. “Does the cure show any results?”

“It’s still too early to tell,” Liave replied, “but I’m cautiously optimistic. Your latest blood work looks good; at least the deteriorization seems to have stopped.”

“When will you be able to give me a real answer?” Tyr demanded.

“Soon, I hope,” the doctor said. “If I only used the original Hoffan treatment on you, I’d have to give you an injection each day for the next two weeks. After that, I could tell if it worked or not. But I’ve already learned a great deal since coming aboard and hope to make the cure at least twenty per cent more effective. Mr. Harper’s ingenious translating programme makes it so much easier to search _Andromeda_ ’s medical databank, even if it’s a bit complicated to match the medical terms.”

“Does it mean that you _will_ be able to heal me?” Tyr asked.

“It means that I’ll have at least a twenty per cent better chance now,” Liave corrected. “It looks promising; but in medicine, there always remains a certain amount of doubt. There are too many unknown factors: I’m still unfamiliar with many aspects of Nietzschean physiology, not to mention the working of your nanobots. I have to be very careful, or I might do more harm than good, and neither of us would want _that_.”

“I see,” Tyr said. “I must return to my duty station now.” He gave her a curt nod and left, without a further word.

Freya shook her head. Usually, she wouldn’t worry about hurting the feelings of _kludges_ , but Liave was their best hope to restore Tyr’s virility; and besides, she already had her eye on the other woman as Tyr’s potential Second. Antagonizing her wouldn’t be a smart thing.

“It is not so that he is _not_ grateful for your efforts,” she said apologetically. “It’s just… infertility is the worst thing that could happen to a Nietzschean. To _any_ Nietzschean, especially to a Pride Alpha. Even more so to an Alpha with the destiny to restore his Pride. He is… not coping well with the situation.”

Liave nodded. “It’s understandable. But you should also understand that I can’t promise anything in advance. We’ll have to wait and see how the cure works. As I said, I _am_ optimistic, but there’s no way to tell for sure. Not yet.”

“I do understand that,” Freya said, “and so does Tyr. And I say, as the Matriarch of his future Pride, that you, Liave out of Anyse by Daren, will always have a place with us, whatever the outcome of this treatment might be. You _and_ your brother. As family, if you wish. As dependants, if that is what you would prefer.”

“That is an interesting question,” Liave replied. “If you’re hinting at what I _think_ you’re hinting at, then I must think about this long and hard, though.”

“Of course,” Freya agreed. “Whatever you choose, it will be a hard decision to make. But you are strong enough to make hard decisions. Which is exactly what makes you worthy to become the Second of a Pride Alpha.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
In the special quarters reserved for alien dignitaries – currently occupied by Born to Starfire – the small Than hive was having a gathering. This time, every single one of them was present; a rare occasion for them, but necessary, considering the decision they were about to make. While the Diamond Than was entitled to decide for them in most matters, when it came to locating the proper spawning ground, the approval of every single member was required.

“I’ve received a positive answer from Chancellor Druhin,” the Diamond Than announced. “The Hoffans are willing to give up their claim on the planet with the twin suns on our behalf. The four of you,” she looked at the Amber Than workers, “will be sent through the Stargate to begin with the digging of the mating burrow and to start growing the fungi in one of the caves.”

“But how will we get back to Hoff?” Songs of Ocean, the senior worker, asked worriedly. “And we’ll need equipment for our work, too.”

“Captain Valentine declared herself willing to transport us down to the planet,” Born to Starfire explained. “Radiance of Wisdom and I will accompany you.”

“What about me and our warriors?” the Ruby Than asked.

“You’re not needed for the preparations,” the Diamond Than answered. “You’ll remain aboard the _Andromeda_ for the next six weeks. After that, you’ll join us on our new, temporary homeworld.”

“How?” the Ruby Than asked. “The _Andromeda_ won’t pass through the Stargate, and we have no idea where that planet really is within this galaxy.”

“That’s not exactly true,” Radiance of Wisdom corrected. “The Gate symbols represent actual stellar constellations, and it _is_ possible to calculate the physical location of the planets symbolized by any give Gate address. In theory, at least. But I’ve already worked on the problem with _Andromeda_ ’s help and have begun to set up preliminary star charts. I’m sure that cartographing this galaxy won’t be such a hard task, after having gained enough data.”

“If necessary, Captain Hunt will return with you to Hoff, so that you’ll be able to follow us through the Stargate,” Born to Starfire added.

“Are you so sure that he will?” the Ruby Than asked, her doubt very obvious.

“Oh, yes,” the Diamond Than replied. “Otherwise you’ll take the slipfighters. It’s his choice.”

“He could block the slipfighter hangar from us,” Glittering Starlight warned.

“He could,” Born to Starfire agreed readily, “but do you really think that he’d wish to deal with _four_ battle-trained Than running amok on his ship in the mating heat? I don’t think so.”

“You trust him so much?” the Ruby Than’s tone clearly revealed that she did not share the sentiment. She was a paranoid one as Than went.

The Diamond Than wiggled her antennae in the bug equivalent of a dismissive shrug.

“I trust him to behave according to his own principles and guidelines, outdated as they might be,” she declared. “Besides, I think he’d be happy to have us off his ship. I can’t imagine that he’d want to share it with hundreds of helpless little grubs.”

“But what if he decides to get rid of us completely?” Sword of Midnight, the ranking Emerald warrior, asked.

Born to Starfire shook her head disapprovingly. “You spend too much time with the Nietzschean. His paranoia rubs off to you.”

“It’s a useful trait if one wants to survive,” Sword of Midnight replied.

“Nonsense,” the Diamond Than said. “Captain Hunt needs us, and he knows it. He can’t operate that ship with only five crew, one of which is a Nietzschean whom he can’t trust and the other one his only engineer who won’t live much longer.”

“Yeah, but does _he_ know that?” the Emerald Than muttered petulantly. The approach of mating time was tugging on everyone’s nerves.

“Of course he does,” Born to Starfire said sternly. “He might be delusional sometimes, but he’s not stupid. So, go now and prepare everything you might need. The spawning ground needs to be ready on time.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
In Hydroponics, a considerably weakened Trance Gemini stared at the small observation screen in shocked disbelief. If the Than spawned in this galaxy, they’d be stranded here for at least two years, until the grubs matured enough to spin their cocoons and metamorphize into adult bugs. Two full _years_!

“That won’t do,” she muttered, grabbing a pair of scissors and setting her bonsai tree onto the counter to be trimmed. “We should never have come here. It was a mistake. One I need to correct right away.”

She snipped off an entire branch from the little tree and braced herself in anticipation of the familiar dimensional shift.

She waited several seconds, but nothing happened.

And Trance began to realize the true extent of her mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Loosely quoted from “The Ancestor’s Breath – Of Sex and Violence”, by Keith Hamilton Cobb himself. The essay was the basis to the whole discussion. Sadly, the website where it could be found has been gone for years. Which is a shame, because it had the most intriguing insight into Nietzschean mindset – after all, who else but the actor who’d played Tyr could know what really made him tick?  
> 2) Conversion is a concept borrowed from “The Recreation of the Warrior” by Kit Mason. The story can be found in the “Andromeda Uncovered” archive. I highly recommend it for everyone interested in possible aspects of Nietzschean culture.


	13. Heroes, Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some elements might seem familiar from the three-parter “The Siege”. However, let me assure you that they are, in fact, very different from the original.
> 
> Beta read by erinnyes, thanks.

**CHAPTER 12 – HEROES, Part 1**

Returning from another short trip to M85-393 – where they’d placed Dr. Zelenka’s cleverly constructed marker and hid the relay unit among the orbital debris – Lieutenants Aiden Ford and Annalisa Lindstrom found Doctors McKay and Zelenka in the jumper bay… arguing, as always. McKay was wheeling in a trolley, on top of which was a fairly big case with its lid open, and Zelenka was practically running after him, waving with some cables, trying to put them into the case. McKay stopped the trolley next to Jumper Two and rolled his eyes.

“Radek, I’ve already told you that I _can_ handle this alone! Isn’t there _something_ you could be doing? Like working on that virus of yours?”

“It’s done,” Zelenka replied. “I still think I should go on mission, though. Not that I’d wish to feed your ego – that’s size of entire solar system already – but Atlantis can’t afford to lose you. Sure, you probably know a _little_ bit more about the satellite than I do...”

McKay snorted. “How incredibly _generous_ of you!”

“... but you know _a lot_ more about the city than I do,” Zelenka continued, as if he hadn’t heard the other man’s sarcastic remark. 

It was a method of survival around McKay, really. One either ignored his remarks or one killed him in his sleep – which wasn’t an alternative, since he was needed.

“Okay,” McKay said smugly, “I think I see where this is going now.”

Zelenka rolled his eyes but tried to stay reasonable; which, when one had to argue with McKay, was _not_ an easy thing to do. “If, for whatever reason, there is problem there, it should be me, not you,” he explained.

McKay waved him off impatiently. “There's not gonna be a problem.”

Zelenka shook his head in exasperation. “Rodney, you don't know that.”

“Oh, but you think we could afford to lose _you_?” McKay riposted. “Not that I wouldn’t be invaluable everywhere…”

“I’ve said no such thing!” Zelenka interrupted, but McKay went on as if he hadn’t heard.

“…but I’d rather die than to be left alone with all those imbeciles and morons who call themselves _scientists_. Besides, if we can’t fix that heap of rusty metal, we’ll just turn around and come back, so no need to panic, right?”

“You know what?” Zelenka turned away from him. “Forget about it. I take it back.”

“Sorry...” McKay began, not looking sorry at all. On the contrary, he looked positively smug. But again, he looked smug most of the time, so it probably didn’t really count.

“No!” riposted Zelenka, in the mistaken assumption that the other man wanted to apologize.

“...but you can't take it back because you've just admitted that I am _smarter_ than you are!” continued McKay, ignoring his protest.

“I admitted no such thing!” Zelenka replied indignantly.

“I know it was hard for you to say,” McKay declared in his usual, infuriating manner, “but the truth shone through and you were compelled to speak!”

“Hey, Doctor Z, McKay,” Aiden interrupted before the argument could have turned _really_ ugly. “Ready to do some satellite maintenance?”

“Actually, we should have left half an hour ago,” McKay replied with a shrug, “but Grodin and Miller don’t seem to know the meaning of _hurry up_ and _no time to waste_ ; and, of course, Zippy here had to fuss about just everything.”

Zelenka gave him a murderous glare, and Lisa pulled in her neck, because the usually friendly little Czech could get frighteningly angry if pushed too far. Right now, his eyes were literally blazing.

“You… you’re miserable _little_ man!” he spat, showing between thumb and forefinger just how little McKay in his eyes was.

“Yes, yes, you’ve already told me _that_ about, oh, I don’t know, four times or so,” McKay said impatiently. He then closed the lid on the case and looked at Zelenka. “Let’s not ruin the moment here, huh?” he added, shaking the smaller man’s hand, a little awkwardly. “Now… since neither Peter nor I will be there in the next day or so, go back to the Gate room and... keep an eye on my city for me while I’m gone, huh?”

Zelenka looked at him with a grave expression which, paired with his scruffy appearance and Einsteinesque hair, was hilariously funny, at least in Lisa’s eyes. Or perhaps it was just the nerves going through with him. It happened these days.

“Good luck,” the little Czech said solemnly, and McKay waved.

“Right, right. Now, get going!”

Zelenka walked out, muttering angrily under his breath in Czech. Aiden and Lisa followed him, nearly colliding with Dr. Grodin and Lt. Miller – an Air Force pilot in his mid-thirties, with almost shockingly pale blue eyes – who were hurrying _into_ the jumper bay at the same time.

“How nice of you to _finally_ show up,” McKay welcomed them sarcastically. “Do you think that we might actually, you know, _start_ this mission before the Wraith arrive?”

The rest of the discussion was lost for Aiden and Lisa as the hangar door closed behind them.

“What now?” Lisa asked, still grinning. Despite their quirks, Doctors McKay and Zelenka were an endless well of entertainment, especially in the same room.

Aiden shrugged, but before he could say anything, the alarm klaxons began to how, and Eddie Wong’s voice sounded on the citywide connection.

“Unscheduled offworld activation. Security to the Gate room! This is _not_ a drill!”

“Gate room!” Aiden and Lisa said in unison and began to run.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
When they reached the Gate room, Aiden’s unit, led by a grim-faced Sergeant Bates, had already taken up position, aiming their weapons at the Gate. Aiden and Lisa, still carrying their rifles from the mission, followed suit, without being asked to do so.

“What's going on, Sergeant?” Aiden asked Bates.

Major Vogel’s coming in hot from M1M-316, sir,” Bates replied.

“Planet Waterfall?” Aiden frowned, but then he realized his mistake. “Nah, it’s the other one, right?”

Bates nodded. “They ran into some sort of resistance. I'm thinkin' Wraith.”

“Wraith?” Aiden repeated doubtfully. “That can’t be. I’ve been there with you, Gene, that planet was uninhabited!”

“It was,” Bates agreed, “but we didn’t have Teyla with us that time.”

“And Major Vogel does?” Aiden asked in surprise.

“He _borrowed_ her from Sheppard,” Bates scowled. “For her _people_ skills! I warned him, but when do officers listen to us, lowly grunts?”

Before Aiden could have taken offence, the Gate swooshed open. Major Vogel, Teyla, and a trio of _Bundeswehr_ soldiers, plus Dr. Moosekian, their resident scientist, ran backwards out of it, firing into the wormhole continually, until the Gate shut down.

Bates ran over to them and glared at the new military commander of Atlantis accusingly. “I _told_ you she was a liability, sir! I _told_ you not to let Major Sheppard’s personal feelings endanger this facility any longer, but you just wouldn’t _listen_!”

Teyla whirled around, clearly ready to hit the Sergeant. “What?!” she demanded.

Bates turned to her. “Look, I'm not accusing you of doing it intentionally, but the Wraith _must_ be getting information from you! After all, you can’t shut them out when they choose to get into your head and take over, can you? We’ve all seen it!”

Major Vogel ran a hand through his spiky – and now damp and matted – blond hair. It was only then that Aiden spotted an ugly, bleeding scratch on that handsome face, going from his temple across one cheek, down to his jawline. Whatever they might have encountered on that planet, Aiden began to doubt that it was a Wraith.

“Calm down, Sergeant,” Vogel said, accepting a clean handkerchief from Lisa and dabbing the blood from his face with a pained grimace. He was the most fastidious man Aiden had ever met, which was strange, coming from a professional soldier. But again, he was also a lawyer, which explained a lot. “It wasn’t the Wraith. It was…” he looked at Dr. Moosekian in honest confusion. “What the hell _was_ that in your opinion, Doc?”

“Some sort of carnivorous reptile,” the scruffy little Armenian replied with a shrug. “Closely related to the T-Rex, I’d say.”

“So, I take it you don't recommend the planet as an Alpha Site, Major?” Dr. Weir asked, leaning over the railing of her balcony to get the gist of the discussion.

Vogel shook his head. “It wouldn’t be my first choice, no. Fighting dinosaurs for the place doesn’t make a safe refuge.”

“I just hope Rodney will manage to get that satellite online,” Dr. Weir sighed, “because we’re running out of options.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Peter Grodin had a very bad feeling about this mission. Unlike his fellow Atlantians, he couldn’t see a symbol of hope in the Ancient satellite that had already cost them the horrible deaths of two promising young scientists. On the contrary: he felt a cold shiver running down his spine whenever he looked at the image of that giant metallic thistle on the viewscreen of the co-pilot’s instrument board where he was currently sitting. As if someone had just walked over his grave.

For someone as English to the bones as Grodin, he was remarkably unaffected by common suspicions. He was that rare Englishman who calmly opened his umbrella within the house, who walked under a ladder without a second thought, and cheerfully ignored all those little things that one shouldn’t do. He hardly ever dreamed (and if he did, he never remembered his dreams afterwards), he didn’t accept ‘hunches’ as reliable aspects of the deciding process, and the only things he believed in were hard scientific facts.

And yet his heart slowly filled with dread as they were approaching their goal, slowly but steadily.

He didn’t even listen to the banter between Miller and McKay – Rodney, wearing his spacesuit already, yet still holding the helm in his hands, was panicking as usual – so morbidly fascinated he was by the satellite. It could be seen with the naked eye now and was growing in size from minute to minute.

“Doctor Weir,” their pilot spoke into the comm, “Miller here. We're approaching the satellite. ETA at the docking facility in about fourteen minutes.”

“Acknowledged,” Theresa Weir replied with crisp efficiency. Then her voice took on that warm, almost motherly manner that had made Peter like her so much in the first place. “You’re on the other side of the solar system, boys, so be careful out there.”

Miller grinned. Just like Peter, he had a mild crush on their leader; one of the completely harmless sort. They simply admired her, and they were not alone. It would have been hard to find someone who _didn’t_ like Theresa Weir. Not impossible, but not an easy task, either.

“Understood, ma’am,” he replied; then he glanced back at McKay. “Ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” McKay picked up his helmet and walked into the rear of the jumper. “Okay, close the bulkhead doors.”

Miller wished him good lucky, then he activated the control to close the bulkhead doors between the cockpit and the passenger area. McKay was putting on his helmet as the doors closed. Peter watched the simulation of the jumper approaching the docking port of the satellite, the dead weight in the pit of his stomach getting heavier with every moment.

“Good luck, Rodney,” he murmured, but for some reason he couldn’t really believe in that luck.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Aiden caught up with Major Vogel when the latter handed his rifle to one of the Marines and left the Gate room.

“Do you think that Gene… I mean Sergeant Bates is right about Teyla, sir?” he asked. “Somehow I find it hard to imagine that she’d help the Wraith, willingly or unwillingly.”

“That's yet to be determined, Lieutenant,” the major said thoughtfully. “What if she’s not fully in control of what information she gives away? If _she_ can look into the mind of the Wraith, perhaps the Wraith could read _her_ mind, too.”

“So you agree with Gene?” Aiden tried to clarify.

“The Sergeant is a smart man,” Vogel replied. “If it’s his opinion that Teyla should not be allowed to move freely around this base of operations, I’d not reject his concerns out of hand. But again, I’m not as emotionally attached to her as Major Sheppard… or you, for that matter.”

Aiden shook his head. “Sir, this is gonna have a bad end. Accusing an Athosian of serving the Wraith is the greatest possible insult, and Teyla is a very proud woman. I’ve warned Gene to check his accusations, but he wouldn’t listen.”

Vogel shrugged. “What could possibly happen? We’re all on the same side here.”

They turned around a corner, just in time to see Teyla elbow Bates viciously in the face.

“ _That_ could happen,” Aiden pointed out, running to restrain Bates, who was already heading back towards Teyla for a fight. Simultaneously, Major Vogel grabbed Teyla to prevent her from hitting Bates again.

“What’s going on here?” he demanded, his harsh German accent thickening, as a sure sign that he was getting angry.

“I was simply stating an opinion, Major,” Teyla hissed with glittering eyes, trying to free herself from his grip.

“She attacked me!” Bates spat, trying to shake off Aiden.

“And for good reason!” Teyla retorted.

“Really?” Major Vogel was still keeping her in an iron grip. “And what reason would _that_ be?”

“My guess would be the Wraith!” Bates snarled, struggling to get past Aiden

“Gene,” Aiden was speaking in a low, even voice – his _command_ voice that his men had learned to recognize lately. “Walk away.”

“Sir!” The shocked betrayal in the Sergeant’s eyes was hard for Aiden to see, but he couldn’t back off now. This situation needed to be cleared, and it needed to be cleared now.

“I said walk away, _Sergeant_!” he repeated, giving Bates’ rank an extra emphasis.

Bates shook himself free of Aiden and pointed at Teyla threateningly. “This isn’t over!” he announced. Then he shot his commanding officer a look full of wounded disbelief and stormed off.

“I would be disappointed if it were,” Teyla called after him, still mad as hell.

“Teyla,” Aiden said tiredly, “leave it be. It’s gone far enough. I’m not sure I can clear this mess up any time soon.”

“What do you mean?” Major Vogel asked. “You’ve managed the situation quite well, in my opinion.”

Aiden shook his head. “I’ve sided with an outsider against a member of my team… a team that’s still more Gene’s than it would ever be mine. And they’ve just begun to accept me… Now that I’ve taken Teyla’s side against Gene, I can forget it. The men will say that I still prefer my old team to them, when it comes hard to hard. They’ll never trust me again… not for a long while anyway.”

Major Vogel, being a soldier himself, understood his meaning. “Can I do anything to help, Lieutenant?” he asked.

“Nah,” Aiden replied with a sigh. “That’s something I’ll have to get through myself.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Peter Grodin watched anxiously the docking of the puddle jumper, as simulated on his small control screen. He could see as the airlock in the docking port irised open to reveal an octagonal room inside. McKay was carefully lowering himself down through the airlock, caught hold of a metal ladder on one of the walls and started making his way down, using just his hands. He had the _naquadah_ generator attached to his EVA suit by a cable; it floated free as he descended.

He was panting heavily, and Peter felt vaguely guilty. He was _almost_ as good with this particular kind of technology as Rodney and, unlike Rodney, he was _not_ claustrophobic.

“Are you all right, Rodney?” he asked over the comm.

“Yes,” Rodney answered impatiently. “Why?”

“Well, you're breathing pretty heavily,” Peter said. “Are you feeling a little claustrophobic?”

“Yeah, a little,” Rodney admitted. “How much air do these things hold anyways?”

Peter looked at Miller, who’d used to be in NASA’s space shuttle program before joining the Stargate project. “Lieutenant?”

“Eight hours,” Miller answered promptly. “That should be enough, even with the heavy breathing. Don’t worry, Doc, the guys at NASA calculate such things in.”

Rodney’s only answer was an indignant snort, but Peter laughed silently and could have kissed Miller. That little morsel of sarcasm had been exactly what he’d needed to ease his unusual tension.

“You're going to be fine,” he told Rodney.

“That's easy for you to say,” Rodney retorted. “ _You_ 're not the one with the eight hours limit on the breathing!”

Peter smiled and looked at Miller who rolled his eyes and grinned. For a while they remained silent, waiting for Rodney to reach the control chamber of the satellite. They had no video feed from there, so all they could do was to wait for Rodney to report in.

After about ten minutes or so, finally Rodney’s voice could be heard through the comm. It sounded positively insulted. “It’s completely dead!”

Peter closed his eyes in disappointment. His previous good mood was gone and the feeling of dead returned. 

“Well, we thought as much,” was all he could reply without his voice breaking, and be blocked out Rodney’s babbling about locking up the _naquadah_ generator as much as he could.

In fact, he blocked out his surroundings so completely that he’d not even realized when Rodney had got life support running and Miller had pressurized the airlock. He nearly got a heart attack when the lieutenant gently tapped on his shoulder.

“Doctor Grodin? Can you hear me?”

“Yes, of course,” Peter had himself under control again within a moment. “Forgive me, Lieutenant, I was… elsewhere with my thoughts.”

To his credit, Miller didn’t ask any questions. He simply opened the lower door of the airlock and – after giving themselves a push – they slowly floated into the control room.

“Oh, you two have finally decided to join me, huh?” Rodney asked. “Peter, do you think you could go down and bring the primary power online, should you not have anything important to do?”

Peter was severely tempted to answer something… _rude_ , but then decided against giving Rodney that kind of satisfaction. “Light would be helpful,” was all he said.

“Light, right,” Rodney was doing something near the top of the room, where he was floating in a horizontal position. “Here we go!”

He must have activated something, because the lights came on in the room. Careful as not to touch anything that might be a button, a switch or a sensor control, Peter pushed himself downward until he reached the viewscreen of the power controls. It came alive at his touch and blinked in a configuration that seemed familiar to him.

“Primary power online,” he told the others. Then he pushed himself off from a wall and floated over to a viewscreen on the other side of the room. "Looks like life support's now at a hundred percent.” He studied the schematics for a moment. “And I think I found the switch to initialise the gravity…”

He pushed the switch without listening to Rodney’s mumbling above his head. The gravity came on instantly, followed by a scream and a loud crash. Peter whirled around and stared in shock at Rodney, who had apparently just plummeted about twenty feet and was now lying on the floor, flat on his belly, groaning in pain. Miller, who had been hanging onto something when the gravity came on, looked down in horror.

“Sorry,” Peter offered a feeble apology. “I assumed it would come on more slowly.”

McKay gave him a dirty look. “Well, you assumed with my _life_!”

That was, unfortunately, very true, but Peter was _not_ going to fuel Rodney’s temper tantrum. “You'll be fine,” he said, sharper than he had actually intended. “It was just a little bump.”

Which it was _not_ , and they both knew that. Fortunately, Rodney gave the goal of their current mission the priority before personal matters… not that he wouldn’t get back at Peter for that remark. That was another fact they’re both aware of.

“Well?” he demanded. “What have you got?”

Peter consulted his small, hand-held device – the Ancient equivalent of a palmtop, just infinitely more effective. “Looks like every system is back online – _except_ for the weapon.”

“Ah, details,” McKay waved off his concern and thanked Miller, who, having made it down to the floor in the meantime, now walked across to help him to his feet. Then he glared at Peter darkly. “Thank _you_ so much! Oooh!” He turned and stretched, producing a loud scrunching noise from his spine. “Yeah – that's permanent vertebra damage! That's back pain!”

Miller patted him on the shoulder. “That would _never_ stop you, Doc, and you know that.”

The unexpected compliment surprised Rodney a little, and he blinked for a moment. “Right,” he then said. “Let’s go to work!”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Staff Sergeant Adam Stackhouse liked night patrols. Atlantis was so quiet at nighttime – almost peaceful. Without all the industrious activity around him he could almost forget that Jamie was dead. He could indulge in the comforting fantasy that his best-friend-since-the-sandbox was still somewhere in the city, playing cards with his buddies - and losing terribly, as Jamie’s face had always been like an open book.

Or that he was with Anais in their quarters.

Markham and Stackhouse had been the first Marines to go native and gotten married to an Athosian woman… to the _same_ Athosian woman, in fact, adopting the Athosian custom of clan marriages. Well, technically Dr. Zelenka had been the first one, but Dr. Zelenka was a civilian _and_ a foreigner, so the Marines were willing to overlook his… _indiscretion_. It had taken them a lot longer to accept the same from their own. Some of them still hadn’t gotten over it.

Stackhouse didn’t really care. The arrangement between him, Jamie and Anais was a good one that gave all three of them a solid grounding in the chaos that was life in the Pegasus galaxy. And now that Jamie was no more, it was an incredibly comforting thought that Anais was still there, pregnant with Jamie’s baby. For some reason, they had decided that Jamie should be the one to father Anais’ first child – and now, in hindsight, Stackhouse was grateful for that decision. At least _something_ of his best friend would survive

Mrs. Markham would be happy to know that Jamie had given her at least one grandchild. It was a shame, really, that she’d never learn about it. It was a shame that the last thing she’d heard was the news of Jamie’s death – and that she wouldn’t even have a body to bury.

Stackhouse shook himself, then turned in to Generator Station One, the next checkpoint of his patrol – and froze. A motionless body was lying on the floor, on its back, like a broken doll.

His shock only lasted for a moment, then training kicked in. He was a veteran of Iraq, after all, fallen comrades were nothing new for him. He activated his radio, his voice crisp and professional, as he reported over the tannoy. “Major, we have a situation at Generator Station One.”

Only when his report had been acknowledged did he bend over the unconscious body of Bates to seek for a pulse in the man’s neck. He found one, though it was frighteningly weak. Bates’ face was badly bruised, with blood streaming from his nose. But at least he was still alive – barely.

When Major Sheppard and Lieutenant Ford came running in, Stackhouse was a bit surprised. Then he understood that he’d instinctively alarmed Sheppard instead of Major Vogel – which could cause problems, if their new commander chose to take offence. At the moment, though, Stackhouse’s main concern was Bates.

“What’s the problem?” Sheppard asked.

“It’s Bates, sir,” Stackhouse replied. “He’s been attacked.”

“Attacked?” Sheppard repeated in disbelief. “By whom?”

Stackhouse shrugged. “Haven’t got the faintest, sir.”

“All right, we’ll look into it later,” Sheppard activated his radio. “Infirmary, this is Sheppard. Get a medical team down to Generator Station One, now!”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
About an hour later, Majors Vogel and Sheppard were finally allowed to walk into the IC ward of the Infirmary. They found Bates still unconscious, with a breathing tube in his mouth and various IV-tubes connected to his arm – and Aiden Ford sitting at his bedside.

“Ford!” Sheppard said in surprise. “What the hell are you doing in here?”

Aiden shrugged. “I’m his CO, sir. My place _is_ here.”

“That’s commendable, Lieutenant,” Ralph Vogel commented. “I’m a bit surprised, though, that Doctor Beckett let you in. It’s… unusual.”

Aiden shrugged again. “I used the puppy-eyed routine. Works every time like a charm.”

“I heard that, Lieutenant!” Carson Beckett, exhaustion clearly written into his face, walked up behind him. “See if I ever do you another favour.”

Aiden was about to answer in kind, but Major Vogel interrupted their teasing. “Is Sergeant Bates going to be all right, Doctor?”

“It's still hard to tell,” Beckett admitted with a sigh. “He's got five broken ribs, a fractured collarbone, and the concussion was quite severe.”

Vogel winced. He’d broken his collarbone once and knew what a painful thing that could be. “When can we talk to him?” he asked.

Beckett shook his head. “We can't. I put him in a medically induced coma until the subdural haematoma can be dealt with.”

“I see,” Vogel bit his lower lip in frustration. “We won't be finding out what happened from him any time soon, then.”

“Not bloody likely,” Beckett agreed.”

“Which means we have no lead at all to follow,” Vogel said.

“Well,” Aiden looked up at him uncomfortably, “Teyla and Bates got into it pretty badly yesterday, sir.”

“That’s true, of course,” Vogel said slowly.

Sheppard shot them an outraged look. “A fistfight and a beating like this are a long drive apart, Ford!” he said.

“I understand that, sir,” Aiden replied patiently, “but the fact is, they _were_ in a fight; and they were both looking forward to continue it.”

Vogel nodded. “I had the same impression. I believe we’ll have to question Teyla about this.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Sheppard looked at Beckett. “Can you help us find out who did this?”

Beckett nodded. “I'm having a forensic exam of both his body and clothing performed right now. Dr. Biro will have the results in no time.”

“Let us know what you find out,” Vogel ordered; then he activated his radio. “Herr Naseband? Vogel here. Would you, please, escort Teyla to my office and make sure she remains there until I arrive? Oh, and ask Herr Kirkitadze to join us. _Danke_.”

“What do you think you’re doing?” Sheppard exploded.

Vogel didn’t even flinch. “Don’t you want to hear her side of the story?” he asked calmly.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
The questioning in Major Vogel’s office had the unpleasant taste of an investigation. Especially with the forbidding presence of Sevarion Kirkitadze and with the big, bald-headed German security chief, Michael Naseband, looming in the background. But Teyla was used to potentially hostile encounters and wouldn’t lose her calm.

“You do not think _I had_ anything to do with the attack on Sergeant Bates?” she asked, taking the initiative.

“Of course not,” Sheppard assured her hurriedly.

But Aiden didn't look quite so sure. "You and Gene _did_ get into it pretty good yesterday, Teyla… and it’s no secret that the two of you can’t quite see eye to eye."

“You know me, Aiden!” Teyla was shaken that he would doubt her, after all they’d gone through together, although she realized that she shouldn't be. Bates and the others were Aiden’s people, just like the Athosians were hers. It was only natural that he’d side with _them_ , when it came too hard.

“I never would have taken it that far,” she stated simply, schooling her face carefully to hide her disappointment. She’d given up so much to help these people; that they’d still treat her as an outsider of questionable intents was hard to bear.

“Willing as I am to believe you, I’m afraid such a simple statement isn’t enough to rule out the suspicions altogether,” Kirkitadze said. “Where were you last night?”

Teyla looked at him in surprise. “I was here, in my room,” she replied. Where, did they think, should she have been? Waylaying Bates at Generator Station One?

“The whole night?” Kirkitadze asked.

“Yes,” she answered simply.

“Was there anywhere with you?” Kirkitadze continued, and she glared at him angrily for such clear violence of her privacy.

“No,” she said, her voice cooling considerably.

Sheppard scratched his head, making his hair look even worse than usual. It was almost as bad as Dr. Zelenka’s now.

“So there's no way of knowing whether you blacked out or not,” he said, his voice resigned.

“No,” she said slowly, finally understanding the question. They were looking for _witnesses_. Witnesses who could either vouch for her innocence – or prove her guilt.

It was nothing personal. It still made her mad, though.

“I have no way of _proving_ it, no,” she said icily, “but I did not leave my room last night – I am sure of it.”

But despite her defiant words, she wasn’t sure, not entirely – and neither were the others, with the possible exception of Sheppard. Could she truly blame them? Was it really impossible that the Wraith had messed with her mind, causing her hurting people without her even knowing it?

“I did _not_ leave my room,” she repeated, but she could tell they didn’t believe her.

Kirkitadze sighed and shook his head. “I’m afraid we can’t take any risks,” he said. “I must ask you to return to your quarters and remain there, until this… assault is cleared up or we have to evacuate Atlantis. Herr Naseband will escort you back.”

“You can’t do that!” Sheppard protested.

“On the contrary,” Kirkitadze said. “I’ve been given sufficient authority in legal matters, to deal with military and civilian personnel alike – _and_ with any possible locals. I’m sorry, but I must insist that Teyla remain under arrest, at least until Doctor Beckett’s forensic investigation is finished.”

Sheppard tried to protest again but was silenced by Major Vogel. Aiden looked away guiltily when Teyla was escorted out of the office.

“Was that truly necessary, sir?” he asked Vogel when Teyla was out of earshot.

Vogel nodded. “I’m afraid so, Lieutenant. I’ll formally apologise by her if she turns out completely innocent, but with so much at stake, we just can’t take that kind of risk. I’m sure Teyla understands. She used to be the leader of her people, she knows what responsibility is.”

“Oh, I’m sure she’ll understand,” Aiden said grimly. “I’m just not sure she’ll _forget_.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Aboard the Ancient satellite, McKay, Grodin, and Miller were still trying to figure out why the dratted weapon wouldn’t go online. It was really frustrating. They’d realized it wasn’t a power generation problem, as the _naquadah_ was pumping out more than enough energy to operate it. As a directed energy beam weapon, it ran off a relatively low-yield charge, which meant that it had to be continually building up a charge in some kind of a buffer, or a capacitor, until it's discharged, as McKay had pointed out.

So they were looking for something like that, with an interactive guide to Ancient technology that had been uploaded into their palmtop-like devices, thanks to Dr. Zelenka’s ingenuity. The little gizmos could directly transfer data to the wireless laptop set up on one of the consoles, which then correlated all incoming data and built the Ancient tech database further up as it went on.

“I think I've found something,” Peter said, walking over to the laptop and typing in a few data requests. “Yes, I think this is it. Right now the buffer's at ninety percent.”

“Okay,” McKay replied in relief, “so power's getting to the buffer, it's just not getting to the actual weapon. Which is strange. Can you find me a diagnostic program?”

“If it’s similar to the ones we have in Atlantis, I can try,” Peter answered, trying to find his bearing among the numerous screens and control panels. Not even the years working with Ancient tech – first at the SGC, then on Antarctica and finally in Atlantis – had prepared him for the surprises the Pegasus galaxy came up with every other day. “There _must_ be one here.”

McKay looked at his watch pointedly. “Well, we've got twenty-nine hours till showtime, so let's hope we don't have to order parts, huh?”

They worked furiously for about another hour or so. It was McKay, in the end, who found the necessary schematics, which showed that power was supposed to run internally from the buffer to the weapon. The satellite must have taken a hit during its last battle with the Wraith, which had most likely damaged the main power conduit.

Peter went around to check another control panel on the other side of the room. “We need to reroute the power from our buffer to the actual weapon,” he said, thinking loud. “If we can do that, it will arm.”

“See, now, your masterful grip on the blatantly obvious continues to impress me, Peter,” McKay told his back.

Peter turned around, briefly contemplating the idea to throttle him, then reluctantly giving it up as he realized that Miller and he wouldn’t be able to do this alone. “Thank you.”

McKay paid him no attention, as usual, already looking for a way to reroute power around the damaged conduits. After a while, he seemed to find something and pointed at some circuits indicated on one of the screens. “Where are these?”

Peter checked it on his own control screen and sighed. “They’re outside.”

McKay paled visibly. “What do you mean _outside_?”

“Look,” Peter went back to him, typed in a few instructions, and Rodney’s screen gave a better indication of the location of the circuits on the outside of the satellite. “See?”

“Oh, great!” McKay groaned.

Peter nodded. “Someone will need to EVA.”

“I’m _so_ not going,” McKay declared. “There's nothing to hang on to.”

Peter shrugged, starting to get fed up with Rodney’s hysterics. “I'm not saying it will be easy – or safe.”

They exchanged resigned looks. There was no other way, and they knew it. But it didn’t mean that they had to like it.

“Okay,” McKay sighed, “so who goes?”

There was a moment of silence. Nobody in his right mind would _volunteer_ for such a task. Finally Peter shrugged. “We could draw straws,” he suggested, in a lame effort to make a joke.

McKay rolled his eyes. “Oh, brilliant! Okay, Miller, break out the straws!”

“It doesn't have to be straws!” Peter felt his patience running out rapidly. He was frightened and nervous and could just not deal with Rodney’s crap atop of everything else they had to deal with.

But before he could explode, Miller interrupted them. “I’ll go.”

“What?” McKay stared at the lieutenant in honest surprise. He was relieved that someone else would put on that dratted spacesuit, but _Miller_? “Do you think you’re qualified to fix it?”

Miller shrugged. “I’m a passable enough engineer, and you can always instruct me from the puddle jumper, sir.”

“Have you ever done anything like that, Lieutenant?” Peter asked quietly.

Unexpectedly, Miller grinned at him. “I spent six months aboard the International Space Station while it was being built, sir. Doing repairs in an EVA suit is something I used to do every other day.”

“And you’re telling this me _now_?” McKay glared at him accusingly.

“It’s in my file,” Mille replied with a shrug. “You just never considered us military types to be of any use… _sir_.”

“Well, I for my part am grateful _not_ to be the one who goes out there,” Peter said hurriedly before McKay could get into another temper tantrum. “But are you sure you’re up to it, Miller?”

“Very sure, sir,” Miller answered reassuringly. “And let’s face it, I’m the best suited to do EVA of the three of us.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
That was certainly true, and so McKay and Miller left for the puddle jumper that took off from the docking port a few minutes later. Peter remained in the satellite, his stomach in a nervous knot again. If they didn’t manage to get the weapon online, and that _very_ soon… He felt like a goldfish in a way too small aquarium, with a hungry cat staring at him through the glass.

He began to feel sympathy for Rodney’s claustrophobia.

Miller’s calm voice shook him out of his fugue. “We’re away.”

“It's not much more than thirty metres from the docking port,” Peter told him. “Just watch your screen, it will show you the spot.”

“Understood,” Miller replied. A few minutes later he added in a somewhat muffled voice, apparently speaking to Rodney. “We’re in position, sir. Take over, and I’ll get into the EVA suit.”

For a while, there was silence, aside from McKay’s muttering as his overactive brain was working on autopilot. Finally Miller reported that he was ready.

“Okay,” McKay said. “Hold on to something. I’m gonna went the atmosphere and disengage the artificial gravity in the rear compartment. Are you floating yet?”

“Positive,” Miller’s amused voice replied, sounding just a bit distorted through the radio of the spacesuit.

“Okay,” McKay said. “Opening the rear hatch. Where _are_ you?”

“Just leaving the rear of the jumper,” Miller’s voice wasn’t the tiniest bit amused any longer. “If you’d let me focus now… this is the tricky part…”

Amazingly enough, McKay managed to shut up. Peter switched one of the screens to external view and watched anxiously as Miller launched himself into space. His inertia carried him towards the satellite, where he bounced gently off one section and worked his way around a protruding piece of the station to the next section with amazing skill. Apparently, all those repair trips aboard the ISS paid off.

Although, considering how hard he thumped into the wall of the second section, perhaps his spacewalking skills had become a little… _rusty_ , after all.

“I've made it,” he finally reported, groaning a little.

“Good,” McKay replied. “Let’s take a look at the first panel. And switch on your helm camera, so that we can see the damage, too.”

“Sure, Doc,” Miller removed a panel, revealing an area of the exterior that was badly damaged, as if it had been hit by some kind of energy weapon.

“This is bad,” McKay said nervously. “This is very, very bad! I'm not sure we can fix this.

“You can fix anything,” Peter replied, trying to calm him down, because if he was panicking, McKay was no good for them.

“Who told you that?” McKay riposted, still not having his nerves entirely under control, and who could blame him? The survival of the entire expedition had depended on him so many times, it ought to get on his nerves eventually. Peter just wished his timing had been better.

“ _You_ did, on several occasions,” Peter said dryly. “Now, calm down and help Miller getting that weapon online. The man needs your help, you know!”

Paradoxically, his sarcasm seemed to push Rodney’s mind back onto the right path.

“Right, right,” he said. “Miller, could you pull off that panel completely, so that we can have a better look inside?”

“As long as you don’t expect me to put it back again,” Miller was already doing so, setting the panel adrift in space.

“Ha, ha, very funny!” but Rodney wasn’t in true rant mode; Peter could hear the trembling of his voice. “Okay, let’s take a look at this. It seems that the main power conduit’s been severed. There may be some way to us to reroute it, so it’s going through secondary conduits…”

“Sounds like some sort of quadruple bypass,” Peter commented.

“Right,” McKay said. “Cold you help us identify potential secondary conduits from there?”

Peter shrugged, though the others couldn’t see it, of course. “I can try.”

“Well, get started then,” McKay’s voice rose again. “We’re only gonna have time to try this once!”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
As he’d stated earlier, Miller _was_ a decent engineer and used to working in an EVA suit under zero-g conditions. However, laying a quadruple bypass, even following the instructions of one extremely talented Rodney McKay, wasn’t an easy thing. As genial as McKay could be when working himself, as challenged proved he be when it came to instructing someone to do the same work.

After two hours, Peter began to regret that they hadn’t drawn straws, after all. Or done rock, paper, scissors. Or whatever equivalent they could have come up with instead. With a bit of luck, McKay would have been sorted out to do the EVA, and in that case, all three of them would be sitting safely in the puddle jumper by now, heading away from the satellite and from the approaching Wraith armada.

The knot in his stomach started tightening again.

“All right,” Miller’s relieved voice finally came through the headset. “That’s all I can do from here. Is power getting through?”

Peter checked the screens carefully. “Yes, he replied with equal relief. “Yes, the power is getting through.”

“Oh, thank God!” McKay sighed audibly. “Okay, Miller, you can end this EVA. Peter, we’re gonna come in and pick you up, and then get the hell out of here.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Peter agreed, the weight in the pit of his stomach starting to unknot…

… until he saw Miller push himself away from the satellite, floating towards the opened rear hatch of the puddle jumper… and missing it by barely a metre or so.

“Oh God! “McKay’s panicked whisper came through the comm. “Oh God, oh God, oh God…”

“Rodney, snap out of it!” Peter tried to suppress the hysterical overtone of his own voice. “Focus, dammit! Can you pick him up?”

“No, he can’t,” Miller answered instead of McKay. “That would require a level of precision flight he won’ be able to. A manoeuvre like that would require Major Sheppard… or possibly Vogel or Lindstrom. McKay, go back and get Grodin out of there before the Wraith arrive. I still have more than five hours’ worth of air to breathe. You can try to fish me out of space later.”

But they all knew that would _not_ happen. The best Rodney could hope for was to get Peter out of the satellite… with much, much luck. _Miller_ was their pilot, and without him, they had only a slim chance to get back to Atlantis _at all_. 

Not that either of them would admit it.

“Right,” Rodney said nervously. “Satellite first.”

Peter only hoped that he’d be able to dock the puddle jumper without help in his current mindset.


	14. Heroes, Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some elements might seem familiar from the three-parter “The Siege”. However, let me assure you that they are, in fact, very different from the original.
> 
> Beta read by erinnyes, thanks.

**CHAPTER 13 – HEROES, Part 2**

The news of Miller’s accident hit Atlantis like a bomb. It was so… unnecessary. So… meaningless. So… inevitable.

“I can take another jumper and go after him,” Sheppard offered.

Vogel shook his head. “It’s a fifteen-hour trip, Major. The lieutenant has air for five. You do the math.”

“I still think we should at least recover his body,” Sheppard said stubbornly.

Vogel nodded. “We will… when we’ve dealt with the Wraith, one way or another.”

“Is it completely out of question that Rodney might be able to pick him up in time?” Dr. Weir asked.

“The chances are slim,” Sheppard admitted grimly. “Rodney can manage to fly a jumper in a straight line, or to land it somewhere more or less safely, but fishing a floating person out of space… no, I don’t think so.”

“What about Doctor Grodin?” Vogel asked. “He, too, has the natural gene.”

“But no driving skills whatsoever,” Dr. Beckett said. “For an engineer of his format, Peter doesnae even like to drive a car.”

“We’ve tried,” Sheppard added. “He nearly crashed the jumper into the mainland. Unless Rodney has managed to miraculously acquire the worth of several hundred hours of piloting experience, I’m afraid we’re gonna lose Miller.”

“Not a pleasant way to die,” Dr. Weir said with a shudder. “Is there really nothing we could do to help him?”

Major Vogel shook his head mutely. His handsome face, now scarred by the scratch he’d acquired from the enraged dinosaur on M1M-316 was grim.

“I see,” Theresa Weir sighed. God, she hated to leave her people to die, but when not even John Sheppard saw any way to save the man, there _was_ no way to save him. “What about the assault on Sergeant Bates? I mean _is_ it possible that Teyla was involved?”

Sheppard shook his head. “I know there's no love lost between her and Bates, but I can't see her beating the hell out of the guy.”

Theresa Weir looked at Aiden who, for his part, didn’t seem so sure about it. “Lieutenant Ford?”

“Ma’am,” Aiden replied evasively.

“What do _you_ think?” Theresa insisted.

Aiden looked from her to Sheppard, then back at her… and shrugged. 

“I worry about what she might have done unknowingly,” he admitted. “The whole Wraith connection thing and her nightmares make me nervous.”

“Yeah, well, what are we gonna do about it?” Sheppard demanded. “Stick her in the brig?”

“If we have to… yes, we’ll do exactly that,” Kirkitadze replied calmly.

Sheppard glared at him. “This is _Teyla_ we're talking about.”

“Exactly,” Kirkitadze said. “The woman with Wraith DNA in her system. The woman who can enter telepathic contact with the Wraith. The woman whom the Wrath have already managed to take over once.”

“This is ridiculous!” Sheppard declared angrily. “Once Doctor Beckett has completed the test, you’ll see how far-fetched your theory was.”

“Actually, laddie, I _have_ completed the tests already,” Beckett said with a heavy sigh. “And I found DNA on Sergeant Bates' uniform.”

“And it’s not Teyla’s right?” Sheppard asked.

Beckett didn’t answer. Theresa Weir’s office became eerily quiet all of a sudden.

“Carson?” Theresa asked quietly.

The doctor sighed again. “I’m sorry, Theresa, but the DNA _is_ Teyla’s. I ran the tests twice to be certain. It's conclusive. She _was_ the one who attacked Sergeant Bates.”

“No,” Sheppard shook his head stubbornly. “That just doesn’t make any sense.”

“Actually,” Ralph Vogel said slowly, “it makes excellent sense, if Sergeant Bates wasn’t the original target. If he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Theresa Weir stared at him for a moment… then she sighed. “You’re right.”

“Care to share your insight with us?” Sheppard asked sarcastically.

Theresa turned to him. “Think about this, Major: Generator Station One. It powers the central tower of Atlantis. Taken down, the Gate room would be blind and deaf until we could reroute power from the other stations.”

“You mean Teyla wanted to sabotage our generator?” Sheppard clearly couldn’t imagine that.

“Not on her own volition, I’d say,” Vogel said. “But under Wraith influence… it _is_ possible.”

“Theoretically, aye,” Carson admitted. “I still cannae believe that the Wraith would be able to influence her from that distance, though.”

“They’re coming closer,” Vogel pointed out.

“Not _that_ closer, they don’t,” Carson retorted. “Nay, in fact I can only imagine one thing: there must be a Wraith in Atlantis. Or more than just one.”

“But how could they get here?” Theresa asked, dumbfolded.

“Let’s ask our resident geeks,” Sheppard suggested. “McKay and Grodin should better concentrate on the satellite, but we still have Zelenka, who’s pretty decent himself.”

“Wait a minute,” Major Lorne, who’d been listening to them without a comment so far, said. “Wraith influence or not, it’s clear that Teyla’s attacked Sergeant Bates. She should be put into the brig. No, wait.” He raised a hand, seeing that Sheppard was just about to explode. “If there are really Wraith in the city, imprisoning Teyla would reassure them that we think her to be the prep and wouldn’t go looking for them. Let them believe that – and _then_ go after them.”

“Do you have a suggestion where to begin?” Sheppard asked.

“I don’t,” Lorne shrugged, “but Doctor Z might. The sensors are his responsibility now.”

“Good idea,” Kirkitadze nodded. “ _Herr_ Naseband, take one of your security units and escort Teyla to the brig. In the meantime, we’ll go and speak to Doctor Zelenka.”

“Are we telling Teyla the true reason?” Aiden asked.

All eyes turned to Dr. Weir, who shook her head reluctantly.

“Considering that the Wraith might be able to read her thoughts, that would be counterproductive,” she said.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Teyla, daughter of Tagan – no longer called _the_ Emmagan, as the title belonged now to Halling, whom her people had chosen as their new leader in her stead – sat behind the energy bars of Atlantis’ prison. She could have resisted when Mr. Naseband came for her; perhaps she would have been to incapacitate the one or other security officer. Perhaps she could even have escaped to hide somewhere deep within the uncharted parts of the city…

She had chosen not to do so. Doctor Beckett’s tests had shown that she had, indeed, attacked Sergeant Bates, even though she had no memories about it, and that realization hit her very hard. She didn’t question the results; Doctor Beckett was a highly competent, absolutely honest man – and he was her friend. If Doctor Beckett said she’d done it, then she’d done it… and who knew what else? The fact that she couldn’t remember any of it was unnerving. She was used to being in control of her actions.

But now, she was alone under strangers, separated from her people, confused… lost. She was lost. Perhaps Halling had been right and staying with the Earth people instead of following her own kind to the mainland _had_ been a mistake. Among her own, she would not have become a Wraith puppet.

“Perhaps not,” the surprisingly soft voice of Halling replied, startling her, as she had not heard him enter; nor did she realize that she was speaking out her thought aloud. “But we all must find our own personal path. None of us blame you, Teyla. You have made a mistake, maybe – but it was an honest mistake, made with the best intentions. I am more worried about the mistake the Earth people might make.”

Teyla tilted her head to the side. It was easier to look up into his face that way. “You mean their plan to destroy Atlantis?” she clarified.

Halling nodded. “I spoke about it to Doctor Weir. She was… quite adamant that it would be necessary, if things take a turn to the worse.”

“I am sure that plan will only be executed in a worst-case scenario,” Teyla said.

Halling gave her an odd look. “Such as three hive ships heading towards Atlantis?” he asked. Teyla couldn’t find a convincing answer, and he nodded. “Exactly. Doctor Weir seems to believe that her people will be able to destroy them before they arrive, but that is by no means certain. Their technology is more advanced than our, but still no match for the Wraith… and they can only use the Ancestor’s knowledge with a great deal of luck. It is trial and error, at best.”

“Doctor McKay is a very capable man,” Teyla said. “I have every confidence that he will be able to get the satellite weapon back to working order.”

“I hope you are right,” Halling replied grimly. “But even if he cannot, what gives the Earth people the right to destroy the city of the Ancestors? This is a sacred place for us all, not merely a weapons depot to their convenience.”

“They only want to ensure that the Wraith will never make it to their galaxy,” Teyla said.

“Even if it means sacrificing the future of _ours_ ,” Halling answered in cold dismay. “I am not ready to let them do that, if I can prevent it. This place is all that remains of the greatest race ever to inhabit the starts – and their power and knowledge is as much _our_ inheritance as it is theirs. They have no right to rob us of our birthright for mere self-preservation.”

“Your approach does have its merits,” Teyla admitted, “but I do not think that our people can hinder them in doing as they please.”

“Perhaps not,” Halling agreed, “but we can _try_. Try to reason with them first... and try to fight them when reasoning is not possible.”

Teyla shook her head. “I do not wish to fight them. They are my friends, and I have caused enough harm already.”

“They _might_ be your friends, though they have caged you like an animal,” Halling said, “but we are your _people_. You should begin to ask yourself whom your loyalties ought to lie with.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
The impromptu gathering of Atlantis’ civilian and military leaders had, in the meantime, relocated to the conference room. The science section was currently represented by Dr. Zelenka, who looked like death warmed over; he had been going on stolen hours of sleep on his lab stool for days, and it showed.

“So,” Major Lorne said, concern clearly written into his face, “the Doc here tells us that we might have a Wraith inside the city. Any idea how he might have gotten in?”

“They sure as hell didn't gate in,” Aiden said. “The Gate has been under watch all the time.”

Zelenka set his glasses down onto the table and rubbed his reddened eyes with his fists. “Must be the Dart then, yes?”

“What do you mean?” Sheppard asked.

“When your team was on Sudaria, trying to extract ZPM, a Wraith Dart has scanned us,” Zelenka explained. “It made its way all over the city, scanning for data. The second it was done, it self destructed… after taking out jumper with Sergeant Markham on board. We thought it was kamikaze pilot. Perhaps we were wrong.”

“You mean the pilot _beamed_ into the city?” Sheppard asked incredulously.

Zelenka shrugged. “That would be logical explanation, _ne_?”

“Can they do that?” Aiden frowned. “I thought only the Asgard have that kind of technology.”

“In _our_ galaxy, _ano_ ,” Zelenka said. “But we can assume that same technology that is used to sweep people up and into their ships would work in opposite way, too.” He was dropping his articles again, a sure sign of his exhaustion, but the others had gotten used to that already.

“So, the pilot of that Wraith Dart scanned us, transmitted his information to the hive ships, beamed down here and destroyed his ship?” Theresa Weir summarized the theory.

Zelenka blinked several times to clear his blurred vision, then nodded. “Yes, yes. It seems possible.”

“That means it has been here for weeks,” Michael Naseband said grimly, “doing… what exactly?”

“Recon,” Sheppard said. “Bates was attacked near the _naquadah_ generator that powers this tower. I assume…”

“… sabotage,” Zelenka finished for him. “Cutting off power flow by destroying our power sources, one after another, would leave us dead in water… ripe for culling when hive ships get here.”

“ _And_ prevent any self-destruct plans from working, “Aiden added. “Without power, we’d have no means to blow up the city.”

“That sounds logical to me,” Theresa Weir sighed. “Well, we can’t get around tracking him down before he causes any more harm.”

“But how are we going to do that?” Major Vogel asked. “Atlantis is _huge_ – finding a single Wraith in time, or two or three, for that matter, won’t be easy.”

Zelenka blinked again, in that particular manner that the others had come to recognize as a sure sign that his remarkable intellect was working on overdrive.

“I have idea,” he announced. “Let’s go to Control room.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
They followed him to the Control room eagerly, and he led them to one of the consoles, where he began to move around glass panels in a seemingly random pattern.

“So, we’re here,” Sheppard said impatiently. “What the hell is this?”

Zelenka gave him a disapproving look over the rim of his glasses. He didn’t like being pressured… and the only one from whom he’d take it would be Rodney McKay, not anyone from the military. The little Czech was not easily intimidated.

“Is biometric sensor,” he explained in a pointedly patient manner that was bordering on insult. “We've had online for past month or so. Detects irregularities in biometric rhythm and reports them.”

“Shouldn't it have picked up on the Wraith, in that case?” Major Vogel asked.

“It would have, had we scanned anywhere else but in Gate room,” Zelenka replied tiredly. “It requires significant amount of power, and since Gate room seemed to be only place that the Wraith… or any other alien, for that matter… would likely enter the city from, we've narrowed its field of focus to Gate room solely…” he activated the console, and a long scroll of data appeared on a screen on the wall.

“OK, so _that_ was wrong!” Sheppard declared.

Zelenka shot him a baleful look. “We know that _now_. But when you have to save energy wherever you can, you must set priorities. Sometimes, you make mistakes.”

“Doc,” Aiden intervened, knowing from personal experience that making the geeks mad wasn’t a good idea; not that Zelenka would ever stoop as low as to turn someone’s shower off or other such juvenile practical jokes… he was a lot more subtle and devious. “Do you think you could expand the scanning field to city-wide?”

“I’m already at it, Lieutenant, but I must reroute power from other places first,” Zelenka worked on the controls furiously for a couple of minutes, and as a result, a map of the whole of Atlantis appeared on the screen. It showed a whole lot of white dots, indicating the humans in the city, and one red dot, which was highlighted.

“ _Muj Boze_!” Zelenka whispered. “That’s him!”

“Only one?” Major Vogel was pleasantly surprised.

“Recon is best done by one, maximum two people,” Sheppard said. “That minimizes the risk of being discovered.”

“And you’re sure it’s a Wraith?” Michael Naseband frowned.

“Quite sure,” Carson replied in Zelenka’s stead. “The biometric sensor works very much like the life-sign detector, but it's able to distinguish different life-forms.”

“Which makes sense, considering that the Ancients must have taken into consideration that their ships might be invaded by Wraith at some point,” Dr. Weir added. “Radek, can you track this one in real time?”

“Yes,” Zelenka said simply, touching a few controls. The map closed in on the area of the city where the source of the red dot was, showing the exact location.

“In that case, Major,” Dr. Weir looked at Vogel with a grim smile, “I think it’s time for a little Wraith hunt.”

Vogel nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” He activated his radio. “Sergeant Stackhouse, take your team and secure Generator Station One.”

“Yes, sir,” came Stackhouse’s crisp answer.

Vogel looked at Lorne. “Major, you and Sheppard pick up some Marines and secure the other generator stations. Lieutenant Ford, you and me go with our teams to get that Wraith. Herr Naseband, call more security to the Gate room. Let’s go, people!”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Rodney McKay was not in the best mood when he finally managed to return to the docking port of the Ancient satellite and connected the puddle jumper to it. The fact that it took him four separate efforts to do so didn’t help things. But finally, at the fourth time, he succeeded, and walked back to the aft department to open the rear hatch.

It didn’t move.

Rodney’s bad feeling turned into full-blown panic within the nanosecond.

“Erm… Peter,” he said nervously. “I’m having trouble docking with the satellite. Rear hatch just won’t open. Is there something you can do from your side?”

Peter Grodin took several deep breaths to calm his own rising panic down. He ran to the right console and pushed a few buttons to check the power flow… and blanched. “Oh dear.”

“Oh dear _what_?” McKay asked nervously. “Dammit, Peter, talk to me!”

“When we re-routed power from the buffer to the weapon, it looks like we inadvertently routed power away from the docking station and the airlock,” Peter explained. _That_ 's going to be a problem.”

“I don’t see why,” McKay said. “We'll just do it manually like we did the first time.”

“You had a space suit the first time,” Peter reminded him. “We don't have it anymore... it’s gone with Miller. And the airlock isn't pressurised.”

“Try to reroute the power again,” McKay suggested.

“No,” Peter said, defeated. “There isn't time for that. The Wraith ships are too close.”

“But we have to do _something_ ,” McKay protested.

“Rodney, you have to leave me here,” Peter said.

“Well… no,” McKay replied. “We are _so_ not doing that!”

Peter rolled his eyes. How typical for Rodney to start arguing with him when there was no time.

“Look,” he said with forced patience. “Get to a safe distance and then come get me once the satellite has taken care of the Wraith ships.”

“Peter!” McKay protested. But Peter interrupted him.

“It's the only option and you know it. Besides, this way I can power down the satellite until they're well within range. Then there'll be no way for the Wraith to realise that we've brought it back online.”

There was a meaningful silence on the other end of the connection. They both knew what the chances were to reroute the power from the weapon to the docking port _after_ the hive ships had been destroyed – _if_ they could keep it powered up long enough to begin with. Their jury-rigged solution had an uncomfortably high chance to fail… and even if it didn’t, the best Peter could hope was to stick within the satellite for long hours… long enough for another jumper, with a space suit _and_ a more skilled pilot onboard, to get there.

“All right,” McKay finally said. “I'll cloak the jumper, watch the show, and come back for you after it's done.”

“After it's done,” Peter agreed.

It was the most final farewell he’d ever spoken to anyone.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Aiden and his team had picked up the Wraith stunners and were now cautiously making their way through the corridors. It was good to have the hardest, most experienced team of Atlantis watch his six, even though it was also a great responsibility. Especially now that they had lost Bates for a long time… perhaps forever. Bates might still make it, but there was little hope that he’d be able to serve in his usual capacity again. Aiden was on his own now. It was a sobering thought.

He activated his radio. “Doctor Z, is he still in place?”

Zelenka, Theresa Weir and Kirkitadze were watching the screen in the Control room. Two groups of white dots, indicating the teams of Lieutenant Ford and Major Vogel, were surrounding the area where the Wraith’s red dot was.

“Yes, Lieutenant,” Zelenka answered. “He’s still in same room. Hasn’t moved since we located him.”

“That’s strange,” Major Vogel commented. “He can’t be sleeping, can he?”

“Unlikely,” Halling, who had come to speak with Dr. Weir, answered dryly. “Wraith can go on without sleep for days… and they would not step down from their alert in such a situation.”

Vogel nodded his understanding, even though the others couldn’t see it, of course. “He’s lying low, then. Waiting for his prey to get into his trap… or for the night when he could move along unnoticed. All right, Lieutenant Ford, are you in position?”

“Team’s ready, sir,” Aiden replied. “We’ll open the door at your mark.”

“We’re also ready,” Vogel said. “Stand by; and if he tries to get out the other door, take him.”

“Understood, sir,” Aiden replied.

“Good,” Vogel said. “Ready, everyone? Move in, then – now!”

Aiden waved to Touissant, who happened to have the artificial gene, to open the door, and moments later, they were cautiously moving forward into the room where, according to Dr. Zelenka’s scanners, the sole Wraith was hiding. Halfway in, they heard the high-pitched whining of a Wraith stunner. And then again. And two more times.

“Dammit!” Aiden cursed. “He must have expected us. Move in, people… and double-time it!”

Still displaying as much caution as possible under the circumstances, the battle-hardened Marines moved on at best speed. In the next room, they found members of Major Vogel’s team – German _Bundeswehr_ soldiers – lying scattered all over the floor. The major himself lay on his back, helpless, his uniform jacket torn open, and the Wraith, having gone down on one knee beside him, slammed the feeding hand into his chest.

Aiden threw his stunner aside and, grabbing his P90, he released a burst into the creature’s chest. The hits threw the Wraith back, freeing Vogel for the moment, and giving Teague the chance to discharge his stunner fully at the Wraith.

“Take him to the brig,” Aiden ordered before reporting in. “Doctor Weir, this is Ford. We have the Wraith. But Major Vogel’s team ran straight into a stunning salvo, and the major himself was attacked by the Wraith.”

“Is he all right?” Theresa Weir asked.

Aiden looked at Rickman who had some training as a field magic. “Al?”

“He’s been stunned,” Rickman said directly into his own radio, “and is in a shock. Has an ugly feeding wound on his chest but doesn’t seem to have aged. If the Wraith has begun to feed on him at all, he couldn’t have taken from him more than a couple of years.”

“Which is still more than _anyone_ can afford to lose,” Theresa said grimly. “Good job, anyway. Doctor Beckett and a medical team are on their way to you.”

“Understood, ma’am,” Aiden replied; then he crouched down next to Vogel. “How do you feel, sir? Are you in much pain?”

“Not yet,” Vogel said dryly, “though I guess that will change as soon as the effect of the stunner is over,” he tried to gaze down at his wounded chest. “That’s disgusting,” he judged. “I feel like a slaughtered pig, already half-dissected.”

“The wound will heal quickly,” Halling said through the radio. “Feeding wounds always do… the enzyme the Wraith infuse their victims with has some strange properties. But you will feel weak for a while. Human bodies are just not made to live through that sort of trauma.”

“Well, let's hope that German stubbornness will win out in the end,” Vogel replied with his usual dry humour. “But I must say, I seem to be in a patch of bad luck lately. First a T-Rex, now the Wraith…”

He trailed off and lost consciousness in mid-sentence. Fortunately, the medical team already came in running. They lifted the soldiers onto gurneys and wheeled them off to the next best transporter.

“That went well,” Teague commented sarcastically.

Aiden nodded. “Yeah. Listen, go through his hideout with the fine-toothed comb. See if he left us any nasty surprises… like explosives or whatnot. If you find something, call me immediately. And check if he’s tried to tamper with any controls that might be in there. I’ll report in, check on Gene, and then come back to help you.”

McKinney, his 2OC in Bates’ absence, nodded. “Understood, Lieutenant. You can take your time; we’ve got everything covered here.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
When the Wraith was dragged in, Teyla froze with shock and disgust.

“Was this the one who made me hurt Sergeant Bates?” she asked the civilian security officer who opened the holding cell to let her out. The tall, dark-haired, oriental-looking man, whose name tag said T. Kurtulus, shrugged.

“That seems to be the consensus about it,” he replied. “I’m told they’ve only shut you in here to make him,” he nodded towards the still unconscious Wraith, “believe he’d managed to fool us.”

“ _Herr_ Kirkitadze asked me to take you to the Control room,” another security officer, the petite blonde woman named Alex Rietz, added. “He and Doctor Weir would like to hear your insight concerning the prisoner.”

“They want it now?” By all understanding, Teyla couldn’t help but feel a little insulted. “How convenient for them!”

Alex Rietz gave her a sympathetic look. “I can understand that you feel a bit resentful,” she said, “but try to see _their_ point of view. Voluntarily or not, you _were_ a security risk.”

“Yes,” Teyla said quietly. “That is all I am in these days. Not a reliable ally, not a seasoned warrior, no longer the leader of my people – just a security risk. In a way, Sergeant Bates _has_ achieved what he always wanted: no-one is ever going to trust me again.”

“Considering what it cost him, I can’t imagine that he’d be happy about it,” Alex Rietz said. “But I don’t think it would be quite that bad. After all, _we’re_ not entirely blameless in this whole mess. Had Doctor Weir, _Herr_ Kirkitadze and the military brass not pressured you to infiltrate the Wraith hive mind, you wouldn’t be left open and vulnerable to their attacks.”

Teyla gave the slim blonde woman a surprised look. “Do you really believe that?”

Rietz shrugged. “Well, your mental shields had worked well enough before Kate Heightmeyer started messing with your mind, had they not?”

“I have never had such problems before,” Teyla admitted.

“Shrinks!” Rietz shook her head in disgust. “They’re useful as long as they only listen, letting people unburden themselves. But they should be shot in the second they begin to make… _suggestions_.” 

She all but spat the last word, with such venom that Teyla suspected some old, really unpleasant experience behind that anger. She chose not to ask, though. In her experience, when people were ready to talk, they usually did it on their own volition.

And, she promised herself, she would be there to listen, should Alex Rietz decide to talk. She had just found a new friend in her – or so she hoped.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Peter Grodin watched with a sinking feeling of impending doom as the Wraith armada came out of hyperspace, flying towards the satellite in which he was trapped like a spider in a steel web. He only hoped that Rodney had moved the cloaked jumper to safe distance from the satellite. He didn’t know how strong the shockwaves of an exploding hive ship would be – he hoped that the inertial dampeners of the satellite would be able to compensate – but the jumper's hull was like paper compared with it, so the greater the distance, the safer it would be for Rodney.

 _If_ they managed to keep the weapon functional long enough, that is. If not, they were both dead anyway – and so was Atlantis. If there was ever sufficient motivation not to screw things up, _this_ was certainly the time for it.

“Peter, have you powered up yet?” McKay’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “If not, do you think you could do it, you know, like ten minutes ago?”

Peter rolled his eyes – a gesture that, of course, was lost on Rodney, but being able to do so was strangely comforting. In the near-complete darkness inside the satellite, lights were now coming on as he activated the controls.

“Powering up,” he said, climbing down a ladder to another part of the room and checking a screen there. “We should be weapons hot in sixty seconds. Can you report in to Atlantis?”

There was a short pause on the other end of the connection, then Rodney answered. “Done. They’re all crossing their fingers.”

“I hope that will be enough.” Peter went over to another screen and activates some more controls. “Switching over from manual to automatic firing mode,” he said. In the background, a low, humming noise signalled that the satellite was powering up, and he released a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding. So far so good. “Stand by.”

“Standing by,” Rodney replied in a tight voice.

And then they waited. Seconds extended in length to infinity, as if made of some particularly elastic rubber band, and Peter vaguely noticed that he was sweating profoundly. On the edge of his consciousness he could feel a fine trembling of the metal floor below his feet, then the satellite's weapon activated. A beam shot out, carving its way through one of the Wraith hive ships and cutting it in half. The ship exploded in a deadly starburst of fire.

Someone howled in triumph, a barely human noise, and - to his mortal embarrassment - Peter recognized that voice as his own. They did it! They actually did it! They destroyed a Wraith hive ship!

“We have a kill!” Rodney, too, was cheering in the jumper. “One down, two more to go!”

But Peter’s triumphant mood was cooling down rapidly as inside the satellite alarms began to sound and panels were shorting out everywhere. Not before he could spot on one of the still-functional screens the remaining Wraith ships change direction and head for the satellite, though.

“C'mon, what are you waiting for?” Rodney sounded a bit hysterical through the radio. “Hit 'em again!”

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” Peter worked the controls frantically but didn’t get any reaction. “Afraid we have a problem here, though.”

“What?” Unbelievable as it seemed, Rodney’s pitch actually rose another octave or so. “What problem?”

“A not entirely unexpected one,” Peter replied, trying to find a solution, _any_ kind of solution. “The circuit we re-routed _has_ overloaded. The weapon can't fire again.”

“Well, try to find another pathway,” McKay said.

“There _aren’t_ any!” Peter snapped, although it wasn’t his wont. 

It apparently surprised Rodney, too.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m heading back in to pick you up.”

“No!” Peter said, suddenly strangely calm again. “Stay exactly where you are! Stay out of harm’s way, Rodney.”

“Look,” McKay argued, “I’m cloaked. They won't see the jumper. You can climb aboard unnoticed.”

Peter closed his eyes for a moment. Rodney knew as well as he did that the whole thing was hopeless, but wasn’t willing to listen, as usual. Even if they still had the space suit, it would be no use at this time.

“There's no time,” he said, looking up from the device he’d been working on, as the alarms continued to howl and sparks were flying everywhere around him. He still felt that strange calmness, that ultimate knowledge that this was it… the end of his journeys. “Just get the hell out of here!”

“Peter…” Rodney began, but Peter interrupted him.

“No, Rodney,” he said. “Just… Just go. I’m sorry it didn’t work, after all.”

He closed his eyes again as the satellite was hit by the first salvo of Wraith fire, waiting for the explosion to happen. Instead, a previously undetected trap door opened under his feet, and he fell. As the artificial gravity gradually receded, he landed in some sort of escape pod with a bone-jarring thump and was pressed into an elastic seat in the same moment as the pod was ejected.

Behind him, the satellite exploded in a deadly fireball, curiously soundless – but again, in space, without air to carry the sound waves, _everything_ was deadly mute. This was not some kind of sci-fi movie, with cool sound effects underlining the space battles. That was something he’d known since his childhood, but reality was a different thing.

He wondered whether Rodney had noticed the ejection of the pod. Whether Atlantis would send search parties. Whether Sheppard or Vogel or anyone else would ever find him, floating in space in a nutshell or if he would die here, just like that poor Miller, forgotten and alone when the air supply of the pod ran out – which could only be a matter of time. Then the shockwave of the explosion hit the pod, and he banged his head against something, losing consciousness.

It was a blessing, really.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Rodney McKay stared through the front window of the jumper in shocked disbelief as the two hive ships fired a barrage of weapons fire at the satellite. He could do nothing, absolute nothing… just as he hadn’t been able to save Miller. He watched the satellite break up and explode, like a fragile piece of Christmas decoration, stamped upon carelessly.

“Oh God,” he whispered. “Oh God, Peter, why are you doing this to me? How am I gonna tell Theresa that you…”

No, he didn’t feel up to this at all. Theresa and Peter had still been in the first, tentative phase in their courtship. They were very discreet about it, feeling awkward because of their respective positions, but in such a small, closed community of Atlantis, there were no secrets. People generally agreed that they would be a good match. There even was a pool running about when they were finally going to stop pussyfooting around each other and admit their mutual feelings.

Well, it seemed that there wouldn’t be any winning bets for this particular pool. It was a shame, but there was no way to change the facts.

And there was no-one who could save Rodney from becoming the bringer of horrible news. There was no time to do it gently, either.

Grief-stricken, he activated the comm device. “Atlantis, this is McKay. We've lost the satellite.”

“I see,” Theresa’s voice answered, calm and measured as always. “Did you manage to take out any more ships?”

“Negative. The two remaining hive ships are still intact,” Rodney swallowed hard and blurted out before his courage would leave him completely. “Theresa, I’m sorry, but Peter… Peter was aboard the satellite when it happened. I… I didn’t have the time to get him out of there.”

There was a long, shocked silence on the other end of the connection. When Theresa spoke again, her voice was stable, carefully schooled.

“Understood. What's the status of the remaining two ships?”

“They’ve stopped, for the time being,” Rodney answered, after having checked their positions. “They're not coming any closer. Looks like they're rethinking their plans.”

“At the very least, Peter's bought us some time,” the quiet, accented voice of Zelenka said somewhere in the background. 

For a while, there was silence again. Finally Theresa spoke. “You can't do any more out there, Rodney. Return to Atlantis.”

“On my way,” Rodney replied. But it took him a full minute to gather his wits enough to start the jumper.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Charlie Miller had no idea how long he’d been floating in space. He tried to keep his breathing slow and shallow, tried to save as much air as possible, in the vain hope that, by some unexpected miracle, he might somehow be found, after all. He knew his chances were nigh to nothing, but he just couldn’t give up. That would have meant that the Wraith had won, and he wasn’t granting the damn monsters an easy victory.

The asteroid appeared in front of him unexpectedly, as if it had materialized out of nowhere. He wondered briefly why the scanners of the jumper hadn’t discovered it… then he realized that they hadn’t been scanning for any natural spatial bodies. They were no threat to them.

He tried to guess the actual size of the asteroid as he was drifting towards it. It seemed to grow exponentially by the minute, until it filled his entire field of view. It probably had enough mass to pull him in via gravitation. He only hoped that it wasn’t big or heavy enough to produce a gravitation pull that would make him shatter on the surface.

He collided with the asteroid and bounced back several times before he was able to remain on the surface. The gravitation turned out to be fairly low for a spatial body of this size… surprisingly low, actually. He climbed to his feet and decided to take a look. If he had to spend the last hours – or perhaps just minutes, there was no way to be sure – on this barren rock, he wanted at least know what it had to offer.

He looked around and headed towards the closest rock formation. It had some vague likeness with monolithic buildings from Earth’s far past and seemed as good a start as any. He certainly didn’t expect it to break up in front of his eyes and to produce a trapezoid gateway, filled with bright light.


	15. Heroes, Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some elements might seem familiar from the three-parter “The Siege”. However, let me assure you that they are, in fact, very different from the original.
> 
> Beta read by erinnyes, thanks.

**CHAPTER 14 – HEROES, Part 3**

When a devastated Rodney McKay came back to Atlantis, good eighteen hours later – he didn’t dare to fly the jumper at full speed on his own – Atlantis was in the middle of the evacuation process.

“Stackhouse has found a suitable Alpha Site,” Major Lorne told him, “and when your call came in, we ordered all non-military personnel to evacuate.”

“What about the military personnel?” Rodney asked.

Lorne shrugged. “We’ve decided to stay here for a while and defend Atlantis as long as possible. Halling and Sheppard are discussing defensive measures with Doctor Weir and Mr. Kirkitadze right now. The Athosians want to stay, too, at least those of them who know how to fight.”

“Where’s Major Vogel?” Rodney asked.

“In the Infirmary,” Lorne answered grimly. “He had an… encounter with our resident Wraith.”

“Our resident Wraith?” Rodney’s voice gained that slightly hysterical quality again. He couldn’t help it. Things were simply becoming too much for him. “Since when do we have a resident Wraith again?”

“Apparently, since a couple of weeks,” Lorne said with a shrug. “We’re still trying to figure out what he was doing here all the time,” he nodded in the direction of the Control room. “You should join them, Doc.”

“Me?” McKay asked nervously. “What for?”

“Sheppard has an idea,” Lorne said. “And he needs you and Doctor Z to make it work.”

For some reason – perhaps because he had become way too familiar with Sheppard’s ideas for his own comfort – that piece of news didn’t help to soothe Rodney’s frayed nerves. 

“Am I gonna to like it?” he asked.

Lorne didn’t answer him at once, and the darkening of his face told otherwise.

“No, I don’t think so,” he finally said. “Just… go and let him tell you. I’ll be with you as soon as the last evac group is prepared.”

Rodney was so exhausted, both physically and emotionally, that his legs were trembling while he descended the stairs from the jumper bay. Entering the Control room, he found it fairly crowded. He saw Sheppard, Halling, Kirkitadze, Naseband, Ford and Theresa Weir – a pale and tense but determined Theresa Weir – gathering around a table. The Wraith ship’s route was displayed on a large screen. Zelenka was sitting in front of it, adjusting the scanners, and that Danish lady pilot, Annalisa something, was standing behind him.

“Welcome back, Rodney,” Theresa said, giving him the ghost of a smile. Rodney nodded absent-mindedly.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“Our scanners show that hive ships have started moving again,” Zelenka replied tiredly, without turning to him, “although their pace has slowed considerably.”

“Obviously, you gave them something to think about,” Sheppard commented.

Theresa Weir shrugged. “If they get here in two hours or two days, it doesn't change the fact that we're out of options. We can't hope to fight them. So unless either of you have any more ideas...”

“Actually,” Sheppard drawled, “I do have one.” 

Before he could elaborate, though, Lorne entered.

“The last group is assembled and ready for evac,” he reported. “But before we start arming the self-destruct device, you should hear out Sheppard, ma’am. I really think that his idea has its merits.”

Theresa Weir rubbed her burning eyes and turned to Sheppard. “All right, Major, I’m all ears. Tell me about that idea of yours.”

“It’s a simple one, really,” Sheppard said. “We wait till the hive ships are within range, and then target ‘em.”

“With _what_?” Rodney asked acerbically. “By throwing stones?”

“No, we fly a puddle jumper in stealth mode right down their throats.”

“And that’s gonna help us how exactly?” Rodney demanded. “Even if we overload the jumper’s engines, the explosion won’t be nearly strong enough to destroy a hive ship.”

“It will, if it has a _naquadah_ bomb aboard,” Sheppard said.

“We don’t _have_ a _naquadah_ bomb!” Rodney retorted.

“But we have _naquadah_ generators,” Sheppard pointed out. “It couldn’t be so hard for you and Radek here to turn them into bombs.”

“Perhaps not,” Rodney admitted sullenly. “But in case you’ve forgotten, those generators happen to power the entire city, _including_ the Gate room. There might be no self-destruct without them; we'll barely be able to gate to the Alpha Site!”

“Which is the reason whey we’ve evacuated all non-military personnel already,” Sheppard said.

“You do realize Major, that what you’re suggesting is basically a suicide mission, don’t you?” Kirkitadze asked.

Sheppard shrugged. “I’m volunteering. It’s our only chance to save Atlantis, and I think it would be a shame not to try everything else before we actually give up.”

“I concur,” Halling spoke softly. “Our people have no weapons that could destroy hive ships, but should the Wraith land, we shall help you to defend the city of the Ancestors.”

“Are you so eager to have even more people dead?” Theresa Weir asked with controlled bitterness. “Have we not lost enough friends already?”

“If we give up Atlantis without a fight, they’ll have died for nothing!” Sheppard retorted hotly.

“And if even more people die needlessly, that won’t make them alive again… or give their deaths any more sense,” Theresa answered evenly. “But that’s not what truly matters at the moment. What matters is that we might have a chance to save the city, and the entire knowledge of the Ancients with it. The only question is, whether we can afford the moral responsibility for the price it will cost us.” She looked at Kirkitadze. “What do you think, Sevarion? Should we take the risk? Aside from Major Sheppard’s personal sacrifice, those _naquadah_ generators will be sorely missed on the Alpha Site, if we fail to save the city after all.”

“True,” Kirkitadze said, “But if we’re forced to leave Atlantis, we’ll have to adapt to a more… low-tech life anyway. As much as I hate the thought to send people to their certain deaths… we’re at war, Theresa.”

“And where’s war, there are casualties,” Zelenka added grimly.

Theresa sighed. “I’m still less than happy about this, but… with a very great deal of luck, it actually might work. Radek, you and Rodney should start working on those _naquadah_ bombs immediately. We’re running out of time.”

Zelenka nodded and stood, swaying slightly on his feet, and rubbed his stubbly face. “Will need something to stay awake, he said to Rodney, already on his way out. “Coffee would be good thing right now.”

“Right, right,” Rodney was hurrying after him. “Coffee’s good. Or we can ask Carson for something, you know, more efficient?”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
“That leaves us with another unpleasant question,” Kirkitadze said after the doors had closed after them. “Who’s going to be the other kamikaze pilot?”

“Well, Major Vogel is in no position to do so, and Miller’s dead,” Lorne said. “That leaves me.”

“No,” Kirkitadze shook his head, “we can’t afford to lose you, too. With Major Sheppard out of the equation and Major Vogel invalid, you’ll be the only senior officer left to serve at your full abilities. We can’t leave our soldiers without a capable leader. You must act as the military commander until Vogel has recovered.”

“I’ll go,” Annalisa Lindstrom, who’d taken over the supervision of the long-range sensors from Zelenka, said calmly.

“Lisa, no!” Aiden protested. His friend gave him a gentle smile.

“Aiden, I’m the logical choice,” she said. “I’m a combat pilot, and an experienced one; they didn’t call me ‘Stinger’ without a reason. And I’m single; I won’t leave anyone behind.”

“Yes, but you’re a…” Aiden trailed off, realizing the utter stupidity of his argument.

“A woman?” she laughed. “Yes, I am, but I’m also a soldier, just like you. You don’t need to protect me just because we’re friends.”

“Lieutenant,” Lorne said quietly, before Aiden cold have protested any more,” she’s right. I hate this every bit as much as you do, but she _is_ the logical choice – not to mention the fact that she’s a much better pilot than either Major Vogel or me.”

Annalisa grinned. “To think that I had to volunteer for a suicide mission for my CO to admit _that_! We girls don’t have it easy in the armed forces, no matter in which country.”

“Lieutenant Lindstrom… Lisa… are you _really_ sure you want to do this?” Dr. Weir asked.

Lisa nodded. “Yes, ma’am, I’m absolutely sure. It needs to be done, and I’m the best woman for the job.”

Theresa sighed. “Very well, then. If we’ve covered here everything, we should start organizing our defences.”

“I’ll see to that, with Lieutenant Ford’s help,” Lorne rose. “Halling, I could use your insight as well. Oh, and by the way, where is Teyla?”

“She wanted to try getting some information from the Wraith,” Sheppard said.

Aiden frowned. “Sir, is that a wise thing, after what happened to her?”

“I was the one who asked her,” Theresa said. “We need to know if the Alpha Site was compromised. Don’t worry, Aiden; two of your men are with her, just in case. But you can go down to the brig and check on her if it makes you feel better.”

“I think I’ll do just that,” Aiden replied. “Thank you, ma’am.”

*** * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***

When he reached the brig, Teyla and the Wraith were staring at each other unblinkingly through the bars of the holding cell. Teague, looking more like a polished black Buddha statue than ever, was sweating profoundly, while aiming his pistol at the Wraith. Rickman had one hand on the off switch of the energy barrier surrounding the cell, ready to drop it any minute Teague might need to shoot the prisoner.

“What are you doing, vermin?” the Wraith snarled. Teyla didn’t answer, just kept staring at it. The Wraith’s eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to get inside my mind?” It stared back at her with the same intensity. “Well, in that case… allow me.”

It obviously concentrated, taking over the link with brutal force. After a few moments, Teyla gasped, clutched her head and collapsed to the floor, wailing in pain.

“Teyla!” Aiden cried out in alarm. “Stop it! Shut it off! “

As he rushed to Teyla's aid, Rickman deactivated the forcefield around the cell. Teague stepped forward and shot the Wraith twice with his pistol, straight in the chest. The Wraith snarled in anger, but his link with Teyla was broken.

Aiden helped Teyla to sit up. “Are you okay?” he asked in concern.

Teyla nodded, still a little nauseous from the experience. The Wraith glared at Teague with a sneer, delighting in the big man’s obvious discomfort.

“My wounds will heal,” it said. “And then, I will feast on you… on all of you!”

“I do not think so,” Teyla rolled to her feet smoothly, snatched Teague’s pistol and shot the Wraith thirteen times in rapid succession. “ _No-one_ makes me hurt my friends and lives to tell the tale,” the Wraith fell to its knees, and Teyla shot it two more times. She then ejected the magazine and reloaded, snatching Aiden’s spare ammo to do so. “ _No-one_ , have you heard me?”

Still on its knees, the Wraith snarled at her. She fired another three shots into the creature, and it finally collapsed to the floor. It raised its head and glared at her with pure, undiluted hatred.

“Those who feed upon you will know what you've done to me,” it rasped.

“Good,” Teyla said coldly. “I would hate to see my reputation as a warrior ruined.” And with that, she shot the Wraith three more times.

“Hey,” Aiden said, “don’t you think maybe you've gone a bit too far?”

“Not far enough, I would say,” Teyla answered. “Besides, we do not need him any longer. What we needed to know, I have learned. There is no need to endure his presence anymore.”

She aimed again and emptied the entire magazine into the creature’s chest. The Wraith fell back and died.

Teague, as if released from some bad spell, nodded in appreciation. Whatever Sergeant Bates might have thought of Teyla, she was very obviously a highly capable warrior.

“Neat work, ma’am,” he said. “Have you learned anything useful?”

“I have,” Teyla replied. “It was as Doctor Zelenka thought. The Wraith was sent to study the city’s layout, spy out its most vulnerable spots… and to sabotage our power sources. Unfortunately, he learned about the self-destruct plan from me, and managed to transmit the information to his hive.”

“Shouldn't we have picked up the transmission?” Rickman asked with a frown.

Aiden shrugged. “If _we_ can send secure messages, there's no reason why _they_ couldn't.”

“Actually, it was a telepathic message,” Teyla said. “There was no way you could have intercepted it.”

“Has the Alpha Site been compromised?” Aiden asked.

Teyla shook her head. “Since I was not aware of its location, the Wraith could not take that knowledge from me. We will be safe there.”

“That’s good,” Aiden looked at his men. “Boss, Al, get this… _thing_ to the Infirmary, maybe Doctor B wants to take a look at him. I’ll go to Doctor Weir with Teyla.”

‘Boss’ Teague nodded. “Understood, sir. Hey, Rickman,” he looked at his team-mate, “perhaps we could use a gurney here, eh?”

“That could help,” Rickman agreed, and he hurried off to get one.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Charlie Miller came to in a room of indefinite designation. It was of moderate size, of a rectangular shape, and there were dysfunctional consoles and dead screens all along the walls on each side. Nonetheless, the whole thing had a distinct Ancient feel – in fact, it vaguely reminded him of Atlantis’ Gate room, right after the expedition’s arrival.

Before Major Sheppard would have touched anything, called the whole place back to life.

Could this be – wherever _this_ was, although he believed it might be the inside of the asteroid – some abandoned Ancient outpost? If yes, then perhaps a true miracle had happened and he, Charlie Miller, might get the chance to live beyond the five-hour air limit of the EVA suit.

He clambered to his feet and walked around in the room, randomly touching controls on his way. Some controls came alive immediately. Others blinked awake a bit more sluggishly. About a third of them showed no reaction at all. They were probably damaged – or had run out of power a long time ago. He regretted not having a laptop with him, with the regularly updated Ancient technical database. That would have helped with the recognition of the various systems, which was his first priority right now. He needed to find the environmental controls before his air supply would run out.

His Ancient being sketchy at best, he decided to simply try out each working console, one after another. The configuration of the systems was only vaguely familiar, as if he had to deal with something older, less sophisticated than the Atlantis standard. Older even than the outpost on Antarctica, if the reports he’d read were any indication. Still, all this had to be of Ancient origins, as the systems reacted to his gene. Besides, he had nothing else to do.

Unlike in sci-fi movies, where these things always happen in the last nanosecond, he still had air for about twenty-four minutes left when, with a low, humming noise, the environmental systems came alive around him. Lights blinked, then stabilized in a steady glow, artificial gravity slowly established itself, breathable air was being pumped into the room. He managed to figure out the readings on the environmental control screen and took off the EVA suit in relief.

For an hour or two, he fell into exhausted sleep, right there on the control room’s floor. It was hard and cold, but the suit served as an acceptable bed – if one was tired enough. The heating system was still working itself up to a decent temperature, but he was just too drained to care about the possibility of catching a cold. He had to sleep to be able to think clearly afterwards.

He awoke to the dual feelings of hunger and the pressing urge to relieve himself. Groggily, he got up to restart his survey. Fortunately for him, the systems still reacted to his gene, even though a little sluggishly, and a slide door, leading to the Ancient equivalent of a washroom, opened on his left. It was strange, how much small creature comforts could mean in extreme situations; he nearly wept at the sight of the familiar facilities.

Having used the washroom, he continued his search for something edible. Making himself understood by the systems proved to be a lot harder in that particular area – it seemed that the Ancients had had a very different concept of food. After several fruitless efforts, he mentally asked to be shown the other rooms of this outpost, and found something akin a dormitory with six double bunks, a small mess hall with three tables, and an even smaller kitchen that consisted of a deep freezer unit of the size of a walk-in closet and the Ancient version of a microwave to thaw them. At least he hoped it was a microwave. He chose a random package – they all looked the same, and the writing on the wrappings didn’t tell him much – put it into the microwave… or whatever it really was… and fervently prayed for a hot meal.

A few moments later the… _thing_ beeped. Small metal pincers within removed the wrapping, then the door opened, and a steaming bowl of something indefinable slid out on a tray. It was… it was _green_. He reached for it carefully and found, to his relief, that the outside of the bowl wasn’t hot. In fact, it was barely lukewarm. He bent his head over the bowl, half-expecting the unmistakable scent of spinach, based on the look of the substance in it, but the foodstuff had no particular scent.

It had no particular taste, either. It wasn’t actually bad, it was just – well, it was bland. Even MREs were considerably better. But at least was hot, and it did make him feel full and refreshed after he’d eaten it. Healthy and nutritious, most likely.

He pulled a face. No wonder the systems hadn’t understood his request for food earlier. He’d mentally associated _enjoyment_ with the idea of eating, and _that_ , apparently hadn’t been part of the Ancient concept. Well, at least he wouldn’t starve here. The deep freezer unit contained thousands of these little packages. If he ate them long enough, maybe his taste buds would go all dormant on him and stopped expecting any stimulation.

He drank some water to wash down the lack of taste, and then continued his survey. His priorities were external sensors and some sort of comm system, now that his most basic needs were provided for. He wanted to know if the satellite weapon had done its work as expected, shooting the hive ships off the sky – or if Atlantis was still in grave danger.

It took him hours to locate the controls for the sensor array. Some of the circuits were broken, but he could bypass them with relative ease, and the screen above the console blinked alive, showing… nothing but empty space. He swore softly under his breath, realizing that learning how to adjust and aim the sensors would take a long time, even for someone of Doctor Zelenka’s format. And there was no way he could compare himself with the scruffy little Czech.

So he abandoned the sensors for the time being and began to search for the comm system. Several hours – and another bland, tasteless meal – later, he finally found it… or what was left of it. The comm system was clearly beyond his skills of repair. The inside of the console was full of broken circuits, burned-out crystals and corroded parts. He doubted that even a certifiable genius like Rodney McKay would be able to do anything about it,

He sighed and slumped into the central chair of the control room. It was nothing like the command chair of Atlantis, or even Antarctica, but he had little doubt that it somehow served as the focus for all systems here. It had to. He wondered what might power it…

Without warning, the chair tilted backwards with him, and the holographic image of the outpost’s layout appeared on the ceiling. He could see how the individual systems were interconnected, which systems were still working and which ones weren’t, and in the centre of that complicated web, the power source was displayed as a true image.

It was a ZPM. Or, to be more accurate, something very similar. Perhaps an older prototype. Perhaps that was what this entire outpost, in the inside of a hollow asteroid, had been about: a place to test various systems and power sources. A science lab of some sort, as he could find no weapons within it at all.

He was unable to hold back a slightly hysterical giggle. There he was, with an intact ZPM, or, at least, with the next best thing to a ZPM, with enough food to live to the ripe age of a hundred and twenty, in a perfectly controlled, comfortable environment – and unable to contact Atlantis or to return to his colleagues. He had what Atlantis desperately needed, and had no way to deliver it, as his refuge had gone mute and deaf centuries ago, by the looks of it. He was going to die here, forgotten and alone, all the time having the very thing that could have saved him and all the others.

Life could be truly weird sometimes.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Standing on the balcony above the Gate room, Dr. Weir and Sevarion Kirkitdze watched Aiden Ford, who was organizing the distribution of the railguns they had brought with them right at the beginning but had never got the chance to actually use them, given that they were too large and heavy to be placed on a puddle jumper. In case of a siege, however – assuming that the city had been warned in time – they presented impressive firepower, delivering an impact velocity of Mach five at fifty miles; plus, a standard magazine held ten thousand slugs. 

They had originally been slated for the _Prometheus_ to replace her close-in armament for the next refit, but – mostly at the late Colonel Sumner’s request – had been reassigned to the Atlantis expedition in the last minute. Back then, Theresa had protested against the additional weaponry, pointing out how much valuable space it would take from more important scientific equipment, not to mention the items of simple creature comfort. For the first time, though, she was glad to have them. She still didn’t believe that they would be able to stop the Wraith with those weapons, but at least they might slow them down… and hope for a miracle.

“Do you really believe that we have a chance, Sevarion?” she asked. “Not even the Ancients, with the command chair functioning and controlling thousands of drones, were able to stop them. No matter how many Wraith ships they destroyed, more kept coming. The Ancients won almost every battle, but they lost the war, in the end. And we are nowhere near as powerful as they had been.”

“So are you suggesting to give up just like they did?” Kirkitadze asked. “To blow up the city and run, without a fight?”

She shrugged. “Even if we, by some miracle, might beat them this time, they’ll come back. Until we kill the last one of them, they’ll always come back. All we’ll achieve is the death of even more friends… good, decent people, like Doctor Brendan, Lieutenant Miller and…” she couldn’t speak Peter’s name. It just hurt too much.

“And Doctor Grodin, yes, I know,” Kirkitadze said gently. “I’m so very sorry, Theresa. I know the two of you were… close.”

“Not _that_ sort of close, we weren’t,” she clarified. “We were… friends, associates, good co-workers… on our way to perhaps, one day, become more. That day won’t come now. Ever. And I’ll live out my life, wondering about what could have been. It’s almost worse than losing something… someone that I’ve actually had.”

Kirkitadze nodded. “Sometimes it _is_ worse indeed. And the worst part of it is not having any hard proof of our loss.”

“Haven’t we?” she asked. “He was aboard that satellite, Sevarion! It was blown to atoms by the Wraith! How could I have any doubts that he’s gone?”

“The chance is slim, I know,” Kirkitadze admitted. “But as Doctor Zelenka keeps telling us, Ancient technology is extremely redundant. Who knows, perhaps they had some sort of failsafe mechanism aboard the satellite to evacuate any endangered personnel. As long as we don’t have a body, there’s still hope. For Grodin, for Miller… for us all.”

Theresa shook her head. “I can’t let myself be mislead by illusions and ‘maybe’s. The sooner we come to closure and cut our losses, the better.”

Kirkitadze was about to answer something, but the citywide alarm cut him off. “What’s happening?” he called down to the Gate technicians working in the Control room.

The Canadian Sergeant of night shift – his name was Charles Lenoir, but everyone simply called him Chuck, for some reason – glanced up to them in concern. “Multiple signals, sir. Closing fast.”

“How comes that we haven’t detected them earlier?” Kirkitadze asked.

Major Vogel, who’d been brought to the Control room in a wheelchair to orchestrate the city’s defences, took a look at the control screen.

“They must have come out of hyperspace right on top of us,” he remarked. “It’s inconvenient but wasn’t entirely unexpected. Are the gunners all in position?”

Aiden nodded. “Yes, sir. I’m on my way out to keep an eye on the situation.” And he left indeed, with Yamato and Toussaint in trail. The other members of their team had been assigned to the guns.

“How about damage control parties?” Vogel asked.

“They’re all in position,” Naseband reported. His civilian security team had scattered across the city, leading other volunteers to strategically important places.

“Very well, then,” Vogel said. “Darken the city, Sergeant.”

“Darkening the city, yes, sir,” Lenoir replied and threw the necessary switches. The Control room went almost completely dark.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
The lights dimmed all across the city. The Marines at the railguns were gearing up, waiting for the first target to appear.

“Remember: short, steady bursts!” McKinney barked. “Make every single shot count. This is gonna be a long and tough fight.”

The Marines lined up. Some of them, like Rickman, Aiden Ford, and even Major Lorne himself, had RPGs on their shoulders – those shoulder-held, anti-personnel rocket-propelled grenades had proved useful before, both against Goa’uld death gliders and Wraith darts. In the near-complete darkness, the characteristic whining sound of the latter one could soon be heard.

“Here they come!” McKinney shouted.

The railguns began to rattle. Missiles were fired all over the city at the incoming Wraith. Darts began to crash into the city, having been hit by RPGs. Shots were fired all over. Aiden whirled around to aim at a dart that had somehow managed to fly by and launched his next RPG. He had apparently been a bit hasty, as the RPG recoil hit him really hard. He winced. If he lived beyond this night, that would make a nasty bruise; not his first one, either. But at lest the dart had been hit and exploded in a fireball, just beyond the city. Good. Its smouldering wreck wouldn’t damage anything within Atlantis.

Sheppard and Lindstrom couldn’t afford to take active part in the current fight – they needed to survive long enough to take up the jumpers with the _naquadah_ bombs, hopefully in time, to the approaching hive ships. But the waiting was getting to their nerves.

“Let’s go down to the lab and see what McKay and Zelenka are doing,” Sheppard suggested, and Lisa didn’t need another invitation.

When they all but burst into the lab where the two scientists were working furiously on turning two harmless _naquadah_ generators into bombs, they found Carson Beckett there with them. The doctor was injecting McKay with something.

“Hey,” Sheppard said. “What the hell was that?”

“Just a little stimulant, Major, no need to get your BDUs in a twist,” McKay replied. “I need something to keep me awake.”

“Yeah, me too,” Zelenka stretched out an arm in Carson’s direction without even looking up from his work.

“Is that wise?” Sheppard asked, not liking the idea of artificially sending Rodney’s already over-active mind into complete overdrive.

McKay turned bleary eyes at him for a moment. “Yeah, well, we're building nuclear bombs here. Staying awake is sort of a prerequisite, you know.”

Sheppard raised an eyebrow. “Snappy, isn’t he?” he asked Beckett.

The doctor sighed. “You have no idea, Major.”

“Any idea when you’ll be finished?” Sheppard turned back to McKay.

“No,” Rodney said snappishly. “This is not what we do on a daily basis, so we have to be careful, or you’ll have your firework a lot earlier than you’d wish. It’ll be done when it’ll be done!”

Sheppard and Lindstrom exchanged worried looks.

“We’ll be in the jumper bay,” Sheppard said. “Just send us the nukes when you’re done.”

“Right, right, you’ll get them,” Rodney answered, barely listening to him.

Sheppard and Lindstrom returned to the Control room, from where they had the easiest access to the jumper bay. Major Vogel had, in the meantime, manoeuvred his wheelchair closer to the balcony doors, to see the firefight with his own eyes. He felt woefully inadequate. Although an experienced pilot and a military lawyer, he’d never been in an actual battle before. He’d been often assigned to deal with the aftermath, often in dangerous places, yes, but never had missiles firing all around him.

 _Sheppard or Lorne, or even Lieutenant Ford would be much better suited to be in my place_ , he thought, following with his eyes the two pilots as they were climbing the stairs to the jumper bay. He’d have preferred to go and let Sheppard act as their _dux bellorum_ , but they had no other choice. He was injured and expendable, so he got to sit here in relative safety and gave orders to the men who knew better what to do than he could hope.

Had the situation not been so desperate, he’d have laughed at the irony of it.

His earpiece came alive, interrupting his thoughts. “Major Vogel, this is Ratner.”

He checked the man’s position on his laptop. “Go ahead.”

“Looks like some of them are starting to make kamikaze runs, sir!” Ratner reported.

Vogel paled, but before he could answer, there was a large explosion nearby somewhere, shaking the Control room. It went completely dark at once.

“Sergeant, what happened?” Dr. Weir asked.

“We’ve lost primary systems, ma’am,” Lenoir answered grimly.

“Switch to secondary power,” Dr. Weir ordered.

The power came up again, although with less intensity. Vogel saw a dart fly by, sweeping the whole are with its culling beam. He had a bad feeling as he was calculating its direction.

“Ferrell,” he warned, “a dart is coming your way.” There was no answer, which made him very nervous. “Ferrell, why aren’t you firing?” he demanded. “Ferrell, report!”

Kirkitadze came over to him. “Is something wrong?” the lawyer asked. “I mean, beyond the obvious?”

“One of our gun positions is dark,” Vogel replied. “I get no answer from the team leader.”

“And I’m afraid you won’t, sir,” Aiden Ford’s voice was grim in his ear. “The entire gun crew has just been swept up in the dart’s culling beam, before my very eyes. I’m taking over the gun position and trying to shoot that dart down. It will be better for our people than…” He trailed off as there wasn’t really any need to elaborate.

A moment later, he reported in again, his voice terse. “Dart’s down. I’ll keep the gun position till relief arrives.”

“I’m on my way, Lieutenant,” Toussaint replied. “Hold on, I’m near your position.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
It only took a few minutes for the grim-faced Aiden Ford to arrive in the Control room, his eyes glassy with pain. He was fingering his shoulder darkly.

“Are you injured?” Dr. Weir asked.

“Nothing serious, ma’am, just an RPG recoil bruise,” he answered with a shrug; then he winced involuntarily. “Those things are damn hard to launch when you’re ducking at the same time.”

“I’ll take a look at that shoulder in a minute, son,” Dr. Beckett promised.

“Nah, Doc, it’s okay,” Aiden said. “I’ve had worse… and I must go back to my men. I just wanted to see Lisa for a moment, before…” He swallowed hard. Theresa Weir nodded in understanding.

“Lieutenant Lindstrom is in the jumper bay,” she said. “Make it short, please.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Aiden was already running up the stairs.

He found Lisa checking out the systems of Jumper Two – the little ship she usually preferred to fly. All pilots had their pet jumper; it seemed that each ship had its own personal quirks and that they were every bit as particular about who flew them as the pilots themselves. At least that was what the pilots said, although most people doubted it.

Lisa was honestly surprised to see Aiden there. “Haven’t you got a few thousand Wraith to shoot at?” she asked.

“They’ll be still there in five minutes, I’m afraid,” Aiden replied. “Doctor Weir gave me those five minutes to say my good-byes.”

“And you’re not trying to talk me out of it?” Lisa asked.

Aiden shook his head. “Not anymore. I hate to let you go, but you were right: you are the best for the job. I just wish I could go instead.”

“Don’t,” Lisa said seriously. “To know that you might survive because of what I’m gonna do will give me the strength to do it.”

“Lisa…” Aiden was definitely uncomfortable; she’d never spoken of her feelings openly before. “This is not the time…”

“Nonsense,” she interrupted. “This is the _only_ time, Aiden. If I don’t do this now, I’ll _never_ get another chance. I’m going to _die_ in the next half an hour or so, don’t you understand? I _have_ to do this, right here, right now.”

“Do _what_?” Aiden asked, more than a little bewildered.

“ _This_ ,” Lisa said, grabbing his lapels, yanking him close, and kissing him on the mouth, long and hard. Aiden was petrified with shock, unable to put up any resistance, and feeling this, Lisa went right in for the kill, her fingers sinking into his thick hair.

After a seemingly endless liplock, during which Sheppard discretely pretended to be very busy with checking his jumper (which was, of course, working at peak efficiency), she let go, her eyes surprisingly bright, and gently pushed Aiden away.

“Thanks,” she murmured. “I really needed this.”

“Lisa, I… I’m sorry,” Aiden muttered. He might not eel the same way for her as she felt for him, but he _did_ like her as a friend… and truly regretted not being able to give her what she yearned for.

“Don’t be,” she replied. “Just… go. You’re needed – and so am I. Let’s do what we have to do, before it’s too far.”

Aiden nodded and ran back down the stairs, still vaguely feeling like a stupid coward. 

Lisa glanced at Sheppard. “Sorry, sir. That wasn’t very professional of me.”

Sheppard shrugged. “Hey, every convict sitting in death row has the right to a last meal. Speaking of which...” He switched on his radio. “Rodney, time’s up!”

“Well, what a coincidence,” came McKay’s sarcastic answer. “We’re done. You can send someone whose hands _aren’t_ shaking to transport ‘em.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Sheppard gave the necessary orders, and soon enough, Marines from Lt. Miller’s orphaned unit arrived to lade the bombs into the jumpers, followed by a highly agitated Dr. Zelenka.

“Slow, slow, slow, slow, slow,” Zelenka warned; then, when the bombs were finally placed, he let out a sigh of relief. “ That’s it. Right here.”

“Jumper bay, are you ready?” Vogel asked through the radio. “We’re running out of time. The sensors are picking up the hive ships.”

“How far are they?” Sheppard asked.

“Close enough to send out another wave,” Dr. Weir said in Vogel’s stead. “Major… John, I hate to send you on this particular mission, but… you have to go, now.”

“I know, I know,” Sheppard was already climbing into the jumper. “I’m leaving.” He started the engines, and the jumper began to rise as the roof retracted. “Hopefully, if I take one out, the other one will back off.”

“I wouldn’t bet next month’s salary on that, sir,” Lisa said grimly.

“You should,” came Sheppard’s answer through her earpieces as the jumper cleared the bay, “or else you’ll have to do this again.”

“I’m prepared to do that, sir,” Lisa replied.

Zelenka shook his head. “Pretty young ladies shouldn’t be so eager to die,” he said. 

Lisa gave the exhausted man a fond smile.

“Sometimes we have no other choice, Doctor Zelenka,” she said. “It’s all right, really. Just prep Jumper Two for me, would you?”

“Under protest,” Zelenka replied tiredly, “and only because there’s no other way.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
In the Control room Theresa Weir, Kirkitadze and Major Vogel were gathering in front of the sensor control screen. The two Wraith ships were marked as small dots at the edge of the screen. Right above Atlantis, countless scattered dots symbolized the incoming Wraith darts, all on the kamikaze run.

“I’ve cleared the bay,” came Sheppard’s voice through the radio. “Switching to stealth mode. And Vogel… don’t allow Lindstrom to start before you’ve confirmed that this actually works!”

“Of course, Major,” Vogel chose not to be offended for being considered an idiot. He also refrained from wishing Sheppard good luck. That would have been a little morbid, under the circumstances.

“Major Vogel,” Theresa said quietly, “please help me arm the self-destruct device, in case this fails. Rodney, keep monitoring the events. Carson, see to the evacuation of our wounded to the Alpha Site. The rest of us will follow if… if it becomes inevitable.”

Ralph Vogel wheeled over to the other console, and the two of them entered the codes required to set the self-destruct mechanism. The alarm klaxons began to howl all across the city.

“Self-destruct is armed,” Theresa said. “John, Lisa, you have ten minutes to… deliver the package.”

“Understood,” Lisa answered. “I’ll clear the city and remain on standby to see if it works. If it doesn’t, I’ll try to take out as many darts as possible, to buy you some time.”

“Thank you,” Theresa turned to Sergeant Lenoir. “Prepare to load the virus into the Ancient mainframe. Then give me city-wide.”

Lenoir did as he’d been asked, then he nodded. “You can speak, Dr. Weir.”

“Thank you,” Theresa touched her headset. “This is Weir. I know you’re all tired and desperate, and that we’ve demanded a lot from you in these past few days. Now we’ve come to our last stand. If it works out, we might win this battle, but we’ll need to hold out just a little longer, to buy time for Major Sheppard and Lieutenant Lindstrom. If during the course of this battle our mission fails, I will give the order to evacuate. If _that_ happens, don't hesitate, because you’ll only have minutes. Good luck to us all.”

She gestured to Lenoir to cut the connection and looked at Vogel. “Any news?”

“Lieutenant Lindstrom has just reported that the hive ships are approaching the planet,” Vogel replied grimly; then he switched on his radio again. “Defence teams, to your positions. Sheppard, report!”

“They haven't detected my approach,” Sheppard answered. “Weapon is armed and ready. I'm going in.”

There was tense expectation in the Control room, underlined by the constant howling of the alarm klaxons and the rattling of the rail guns and multiple explosions from the outside. In stealth mode the jumper didn’t appear on the scanners, so that they couldn’t have a clue what was going on – until the sky went brilliant white for a flash second. One of the dots symbolizing the Wraith hive ships began to blink, then turned for a moment into a stylised starburst… and then vanished.

“Target has been destroyed,” Sergeant Lenoir said in a flat, emotionless voice.

Unlike the first time, there was no cheer in the Control room. Unlike the first time, they already knew what it had cost them to destroy the hive ship.

“Atlantis, this is Jumper Two,” Annalisa Lindstrom reported in a moment later. “I have visual proof that Major Sheppard has succeeded. I’m moving in onto the second target.”

“Understood, Lieutenant,” Theresa replied, “and thank you – from us all.”

“It’s an honour, ma’am,” Lisa answered. “You’ll see it if… _when_ I succeed. Lindstrom out.”

She broke the connection and changed course, determined to reach the remaining hive ship before the countdown of the self-destruct device ran off. There was no time to waste.

She nearly got a heart attack, though, when the aft sensors of the jumper picked up a huge object, right behind her. It was a ship, without any doubt, but of a completely unknown configuration. Not even the Ancient technical database, that had been downloaded in each and every jumper, could make heads and tails of it.

She wished fervently that the jumpers had their own version of biometric sensors. Unfortunately, they had not, so she had no way to find out whether there were Wraith aboard that ship, or humans, or some other kind of beings that they hadn’t met so far. She didn’t dare to contact Atlantis again – that might have drawn the attention of the newcomer, and who knew, perhaps they had sensors advanced enough to locate her, despite the clock.

She decided to go with the original plan and blow the hell up the remaining hive ship. The newcomer providing a distraction might even prove helpful.

“Fare well, Aiden,” she whispered and accelerated to full speed.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Down in Atlantis, the gun teams – and Marines with RPG launchers on their shoulders – were still trying to fight off the incoming Wraith darts. Everyone else, including Major Vogel and the majority of the engineers, had already been sent through the Gate. In the near-abandoned Control room only Theresa, Kirkitadze and Zelenka were watching the screen, with Sergeant Lenoir keeping an eye on Gate operations.

They were waiting for the second explosion, but it wouldn’t come. The countdown was at three minutes and ticking. On Zelenka’s laptop, the words _Virus loaded and ready_ flashed every ten seconds.

“Oh, no!” Zelenka suddenly said.

Theresa turned to him. “What happened?”

Zelenka gestured towards the screen. “We’ve picked up another ship. Here. See?”

The others stared at the screen in shock. “Wraith?” Theresa asked.

Zelenka shrugged apologetically. “I can’t tell. Is smaller than hive ships but larger than Wraith cruiser. Much, much larger.”

“What does the Ancient database say?” Kirkitadze asked.

Sergeant Lenoir looked it up; then shook his head. “No match, sir.”

“Which means, it has to belong to a race that must have risen _after_ the Ancients’ departure,” Kirkitadze said. “But that still doesn’t tell us whether they’re friendly or hostile. Should we try to hail them?”

Theresa hesitated for a moment. Before she could say anything, though, there was another blinding flash of white light in the outside, and the dot representing the remaining hive ship began to blink – then it was gone, too.

“Well,” Kirkitadze sighed. “At least we know that Lieutenant Lindstrom has accomplished her mission. Shall we abort the self-destruct?”

“No,” Theresa said. "There are still Wraith darts swarming around us. But let us stop it for the time being – until we find out who this new player is.”

“Doctor Weir,” Lenoir glanced up from his console. “We’re being hailed. From that ship out there.”

“Punch them through,” Theresa ordered, and Lenoir threw the switch. A clear, carefully articulated male voice sounded through the loudspeaker, in a grammatically correct English that, however, curiously lacked any recognizable accent.

“This is Captain Dylan Hunt, commander of the High Guard ship _Andromeda Ascendant_ ,” the voice said. “Atlantis, do you require any further assistance?”

At the same moment, Teyla came in running. “Doctor Weir,” she cried, “the Wraith are in Atlantis!”

The others exchanged worried looks. This was highly unpleasant news, but when could they ever hope for things to end easily in the Pegasus galaxy?

“They must have beamed in from kamikaze ships,” Zelenka said. “We’ve got fight on our hands on two fronts. So yes, I think we can use assistance from strange ship, _now_.”

“We’ve heard you,” the voice of the unknown starship captain said. “We’ll take care of the smaller ships – and then come down and help you with the invaders. Hunt out.”

Theresa looked at Lenoir with tentative hope. “Call back all able-bodied personnel from the Alpha Site, Sergeant. Perhaps we’ll be able to keep this city, after all.”

And she bent down to the console and typed in her code to disengage the self-destruct.


	16. The Clash of the Titans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some elements might seem familiar from the three-parter “The Siege”. However, let me assure you that they are, in fact, very different from the original. The size of the Wraith hive ships is a rough estimation and might be wrong.
> 
> The topics of Grodin’s doctorates are simply borrowed from the Caltech website. I admit to not having the slightest clue about such things.
> 
> The words of Barbarossa Anasazi are roughly quoted from “Whispers in the Void”, a chapter of “The Ancestor’s Breath” by Keith Hamilton Cobb himself. I shortened and edited it a bit to match the demands of this particular chapter.
> 
> Beta read by erinnyes, who also supplied some of the technical data. My gratitude.

**CHAPTER 14 – THE CLASH OF THE TITANS**

“You’re planning to do _what_?” Dylan Hunt, esteemed captain of the _Andromeda Ascendant_ , all but exploded into the unimpressed face of Born to Starfire.

“We are planning to travel to the planet with the two suns to spawn there,” the Diamond Than replied, completely unfazed by the captain’s temper tantrum. Than were very… _balanced_ individuals. Few things ever managed to upset them – under normal circumstances.

Those circumstances did _not_ include the mating heat, however, and Born to Starfire felt the annoyance rising in her thorax. But as a member of the ruling caste she was used to dealing with belligerent underlings, and right now she was reaching deep into her considerable reserves of willpower to keep her calm.

“That… that’s _insane_!” Dylan said helplessly. “You can’t do that!”

Born to Starfire wiggled her antennae in a manner that equalled an ironically raised eyebrow by most humanoid races.

“Surely, Captain, you’ll understand that we don’t have a chance in this matter,” she said patiently. “We can’t spawn aboard the _Andromeda_ , and we can’t ignore the upcoming mating time. You’ve had Than in your command staff, so I assume you’ve heard about the mating madness.”

Dylan nodded. “Refractions of Dawn has mentioned it to me a few times… whenever she wanted to go on unscheduled leave, actually.”

“I assure you that she didn’t exaggerate,” the Diamond Than said. “We are but a small hive, yet I don’t think you’d like even ten hormonally imbalanced Than running amok aboard your ship.”

Dylan shuddered from the mere thought of it. He’d seen a crazy Than once (not that he’d known _what_ had caused the bug to go insane), and it hadn’t been a pretty sight. Members of the insectoid race were a lot stronger than their deceivingly fragile appearance would make others to expect, and they could cause a great deal of damage.

“But if you spawn now, you won’t be able to leave the burrows until the grubs have fully matured,” he said.

Born to Starfire nodded. “That’s correct. It can take as long as two years in Vedran Standard, depending on environmental factors and other circumstances that we can’t foresee.”

“And what if we find a way home before that?” Dylan asked.

“In that case, you’ll have two choices,” the Diamond Tan replied calmly. “Either you wait until we can rejoin your crew – or you’ll leave us behind. I must add, however, that the second solution wouldn’t bode well with you. I’m a valued individual of my caste. Should my hive not return home with you, there would be… questions. And since our people turned back to the old ways after the fall of the Commonwealth, there has been a certain… _intolerance_ in our government’s dealings with other races. Especially with individuals who’ve caused us losses.”

The small hairs on the nape of Dylan’s neck rose. He didn’t like being threatened, but found it wiser not to react to the Diamond Than’s warning tone – this time. Right now, there were more important things at stake than mere insectoid arrogance.

“How am I supposed to keep my ship operational with only one engineer aboard, and one who wouldn’t last much longer?” he asked, not even trying to hide his annoyance. “The Perseids are staying on Hoff, and besides, they’re in full mating mode already. If you’re pulling the Amber bugs off the ship, too, we can just as well close the machine shops and give up.”

“We won’t be leaving right away… not all of us,” Born of Starfire said in a placating tone. “Glittering Starlight will remain aboard with our Emerald Warriors till the last possible moment. She’s fairly good with technology, and will be able to give Mr. Harper a hand. All you need to do is to bring them to the closest planet with a Stargate when she says it’s time. Good day, Captain Hunt.”

With that, the Diamond Than left in her usual regal manner. Trance, whom Dylan had allowed to listen to the conversation, now came forth from her hiding place and looked at the captain anxiously.

“Dylan, you can’t allow them to leave,” she said. “That would be a mistake… a big one.”

“And what am I supposed to do?” asked Dylan sarcastically. “They’re not under my command, Trance, they’re _passengers_! And what’s even worse, they’re the official representatives of the _Than Hegemony_! The same Than Hegemony that I’ve been trying to talk into joining the Restored Systems Commonwealth for a year. They’ve been sent to my ship by their government to evaluate my actions and abilities. I really don’t think I have the authority to tell them what to do and what to leave.”

“But they’re making a mistake!” Trance insisted, stomping with her foot like an angry child. “We can’t stay in this universe for years… it would be too dangerous!”

“Dangerous… for whom?” asked Dylan softly.

Trance’s tail flicked nervously, and her eyelids fluttered in that peculiar way Dylan had come to recognize as a sure sign that she was lying – or, at the very least, obfuscating.

“For us all,” she replied. “You remember what I’ve told you about a perfect possible future? Well, it’s not _here_! We don’t _belong_ here! If we don’t leave this place as soon as we can, all those possible futures I’ve seen will be lost, forever.”

She was seriously panicking, Dylan could see that, and that made him think. He didn’t want to stay in the Pegasus galaxy any more than Trance did, but he had the impression that there was more behind all this than Trance would be willing to tell him. A _lot_ more.”

On the other hand, pissing off Trance wouldn’t have been wise, either. He wasn’t exactly sure what the little purple alien was capable of, but she sure as hell was one thing: unpredictable. Even creepy sometimes, in her false innocence.

Dylan, like all proper little High Guard officers, was prone to naïveté, but he wasn’t an idiot. Trance’s innocent act had only fooled him for a while. Until he’d seen a few of the tricks she had pulled. No innocent little alien could do the things Trance seemed to do without effort. It was better to keep her in a friendly mood.

“Look, I’m working on it,” he said soothingly. “That’s why we’re going to check out that satellite. Perhaps its builders can help us to find a way back home.”

Trance shook her head unhappily, and Dylan frowned. “You don’t think they could?”

“I don’t know,” Trance replied. “I’m just afraid it will be too late.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
And so it came that when the _Andromeda Ascendant_ finally broke Hoffan orbit to make her way to the mysterious satellite, only the Ruby and Emerald Than were still onboard. To say that Harper was not happy about the absence of the Amber bugs in the machine shops would have been an understatement. The little engineer had grown more irascible by the moment, ever since he had returned to the ship. Tyr suspected that the larvae inside him were developing immunity to the medicine. If they didn’t get to a decent doctor, and soon, he would have no other choice than fulfil his promise and kill the little man, quickly and painlessly.

The thought bothered him more than he’d care to admit.

Both Trance and the Hoffan doctors said that Harper needed to conserve his strength to last any longer, and so Tyr made it his personal task to make sure that Harper ate at least semi-regularly – he even cooked for him! – and got a few hours of sleep each night. It wasn’t an easy task to perform, as Harper could feel that he was running out of time and didn’t want to waste any of it for such mundane things. There was always so much to do, and now he didn’t even have the Amber bugs to help him with all that work that was originally supposed to be done by fifty or so crew.

Beka did help him with small repairs, whenever she was not piloting the ship, but although she was a good mechanic if the need arose (she grew up on the _Maru_ after all, a ship demanding constant maintenance), she didn’t have the same ingenious touch with machines. Being able to merge with the ship via dataport was an ability no mere mechanical skills could match, and so the bulk of the work still remained with Harper. Tyr, who regularly went down to the machine shops after his own duty shift to provide some assistance, often had to bodily drag him out of the electronic insides of the one or other system and force him back to his messy quarters to get some rest.

On one of those occasions he learned about the nightmares.

He’d helped Harper to do some repairs – the particularly rough slide through slipstream that had brought them here had left a lot of systems battered – and it was fairly late, even by Harper’s standards, when they finally finished. By then, Harper was so exhausted that he could barely keep himself on his wobbly feet, so Tyr simply threw him over his shoulder and carried him home.

When he reached Harper’s quarters the little engineer was already sleeping, with his mouth slightly open, drooling on Tyr’s favourite leather west. The Nietzschean made a disgusted face, but he couldn’t really blame Harper for being overtired and overworked. One could not work for fifty without knocking oneself out.

He carefully lowered the prone body onto the bed, sweeping from it the flimsies and spare parts cluttered all over its surface. Then he removed Harper’s boots and tool belt to make him more comfortable. After a moment of hesitation, he also removed the baggy pants and the ridiculously coloured shirt. This was not the time for false modesty or skittishness.

The blue boxer shorts with the little grey sheep made him smile, but in a way that was tinted with sorrow. Harper loved such archaic Earth things, but the sad truth was, there were no sheep on Earth any longer. Or any other animals, for that matter, save for rats, stray dogs and cockroaches. The whole planet was slowly suffocating from pollution, with its starving inhabitants fighting each other for whatever meagre resources might be still available. When they weren’t hunted by Drago-Kazov slavers or raiding Magog bands themselves.

Tyr gave Harper’s pale, wiry body a regretful look. There could be no doubt that the engineer had spent the greater part of his short life on the brink of starvation. The grotesquely swollen belly, hiding the thirteen ticking time bombs, only made the sight more disturbing. If Tyr strained his keen ears, he could almost hear them move around a little in Harper’s body.

 _That_ made him wish to get violently ill. To pull his gauss pistol and destroy the parasites _now_ , without regard for Harper’s life that would end anyway in a very short time. To shoot _himself_ , before the still lingering traces of Magog DNA in his system can do something equally distasteful to _him_.

He suppressed the urge ruthlessly. He was a survivor, and so was Harper. They would not give up until it was absolutely, utterly inevitable. But he’d need to stay around Harper from now on; for it seemed that the inevitable might happen sooner than they had expected.

He called Freya and informed her about the change of Harper’s status. Freya agreed with him. They hadn’t slept together since the Hoffan doctors had found the Magog DNA in Tyr’s system anyway, not wanting to endanger their unborn child. So it didn’t really matter where Tyr spent the night – and right now, Harper needed him more than Freya did. It was a question of priorities, really. He couldn’t allow the damned monsters to hatch unnoticed. That was the _only_ reason to stay in Harper’s quarters.

He made himself comfortable in one of the armchairs, so that he could keep an eye on Harper. The little engineer was sleeping, but his sleep didn’t seem very restful. In fact, his limbs were shaking slightly, and sweat broke out all over his body, covering his skin in a light sheen. The rapid movements of his eyeballs behind the closed lids spoke of particularly vivid dreams… and not very pleasurable ones.

“Ship,” Tyr said quietly, “is he having a nightmare?”

The holo-image of Rommie blinked into existence at his elbow.

“No,” she replied, “right now, it seems just a bad dream. He has them all the time.”

“Every night?” Tyr asked, and Rommie nodded. “Does he remember them afterwards?”

“The bad dreams rarely,” Rommie said, “and despite having them each night, he seems rested enough afterwards, assuming he’d slept at least five hours. The nightmares… that’s a different matter. He always wakes up screaming and shaking and covered in cold sweat,” Rommie paused. “I... I haven’t dared to ask what they are about, but knowing his life history…”

Tyr nodded. Reliving past terrors was something he knew all too well, from personal experience, and he could make an educated guess what Harper’s nightmares were about. But at least he had Freya now to calm him down, to anchor him in reality. Harper didn’t even have the support of his friends, and that made Tyr very angry. How could Beka, how could the rest of the _Maru_ crew let him suffer alone? On such a small ship, they _had_ to know…

“How often does he have nightmares?” he asked. Rommie would know; he was certain that the ship monitored them all, all the time.

“Before the encounter with the Magog world ship he had them perhaps once a week,” Rommie answered. “It was slowly getting better, actually. But now… now he has them almost every night.”

“Can I do something?” Tyr asked.

The hologram shrugged. “Not really. It’s not a temporary problem any more, it’s a condition. You can try to talk to him – perhaps your voice can help him to calm down; to feel safe.”

She blinked out of existence, and Tyr thought for a moment what could he talk to Harper about. The only thing they had in common was the Magog infestation, and _that_ wasn’t a topic well-suited to keep the nightmares at bay. On the contrary: it was a never-ending source for them… and not for Harper alone.

Finally, Tyr settled for some of his own childhood memories, from a time when he had felt safe and loved and cherished. Those were his happiest memories – the ones he still could draw strength from. He hoped they would make Harper feel safe, too.

“ _You are the centre of the wheel_ , my father would speak to my ear as he rocked me to sleep in his arms on the nights that from among his wives my mother called him to come to her,” he began in a low, soft, almost hypnotic voice, trying to entrance Harper and lure him away from the upcoming nightmare. " _You are the only god; your strength the greatest strength; your arm the fellest arm_. These words he whispered, as his massive arm pressed me about the ribs, restraining my breath, and my head rested in the gulf of his huge hand. _No value is greater than yours; no glory greater, save that which will spring from you_.”

As he continued to speak, calling back to memory the warmth and affection in his father’s deep voice, Harper’s twitching seemed to gradually lessen, and the little _kludge_ settled into more restful sleep. Tyr smiled wistfully. At this immeasurable distance from the safety of his father’s arms, at this long age removed from the smell of Barbarossa’s breath upon his face, sweet and clean from the habit of chewing mint leaves, from the feel of his father’s neck, pressed against his face, vibrating from the bass timbre of that great voice that could still shake him in his father’s embrace, even as an eleven-year-old, it seemed that the awesome strength of the Kodiak sires could still keep monsters at bay. Even in their death. Even by memory only.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
As Rommie had foretold, Harper woke up surprisingly well-rested in the next morning. He even ate the voluminous breakfast that Tyr had cooked up for him, showered and followed Tyr to the command deck. For the time being, the most urgent repairs were done, and he wanted to see how far they still were from their goal.

When they arrived, Dylan, Beka, Rommie and Rev Bem were already present. Sword of Midnight was standing at Tyr’s weapons control station but stepped aside at once to hand it over to the Nietzschean. Trance was nowhere to see.

“Status, Rommie,” Dylan said.

“I’m detecting space traffic, right at the coordinates where the satellite is positioned,” Rommie reported. “Multiple vectors. At least three ships are involved – and they are _huge_.”

Taking notice of Harper’s arrival, Dylan glanced at the engineer briefly, as if he wanted to see how he was holding up, and then turned back to Rommie.

“Just how huge is _huge_?” he asked. “I mean, you’re not a nutshell yourself.”

“I mean _huge_ ,” Rommie answered. “As in more than twice my size. It’s not easy to determine from this distance, but I estimate each one to be approximately three kilometres long and one point eight kilometres wide.”

“Ow, man!” Harper said, clearly impressed. “That _is_ huge!”

“Not to mention disturbing,” Dylan commented. “Could these be Wraith hive ships?”

“I do not know what _else_ they could be, considering their size,” Tyr replied dryly. “According to the Hoffans, no one else has spacefaring abilities in this galaxy anyway.”

“The Hoffans can be wrong,” Dylan retorted.

“About small, experimental spacecraft – yes; about such huge colony vessels – no,” Tyr said calmly. “They know their enemy. I wonder why would they need three of their ships to destroy a single satellite, though… unless it is some sort of weapons platform.”

“If they’re heading to the satellite in the first place,” Sword of Midnight added. “ _Andromeda_ , can you give us a visual?”

“I can,” Rommie answered, “but it would be almost six minutes old.”

“I’ll take it,” Dylan said. “Put it on the main screen.”

“Transferring visuals,” Rommie blinked, and the main viewscreen of the command deck came alive.

In the middle of it was the satellite: a strange construction, looking like a metallic thistle or a drift that had been crumpled by a giant, little turrets looking in every direction. It seemed fairly dead, giving out no power readings whatsoever. In a distance from it a small fleet of three ships was flying by – three huge, somewhat flat ships. They seemed to pay the satellite no attention at all.

“Midnight was right,” Beka said. “They’re ignoring the satellite… perhaps because it’s dea…” 

She trailed off, her mouth hanging literally open. Because the seemingly dead satellite powered up all of the sudden, and one of its turrets emitted a continuous energy beam. The beam hit one of the ships, broke it apart and the ship exploded into a spectacular fireball.

“That was some spectacular firepower,” Tyr commented _sotto voce_ , his envy obvious to everyone who knew them.

The other ships altered course – awfully fast for such behemoth vessels – and began to fire at the satellite with their own energy weapons. Those didn’t have CW beams; instead, they produced short, rapid pulses. The outcome was the same, though: the satellite lasted only a few seconds, before it, too, exploded into a billion little pieces, without firing another shot. After that, the two remaining ships returned to their previous course, although they seemed to have slowed down considerably.

“I don’t understand,” Harper was chalk white and shaking. “The CW energy weapon of that satellite could have offed all three ships in no time. Why didn't they fire again?”

“Perhaps the weapon was malfunctioning,” Tyr replied with a shrug. Unfortunately, such things happened. Not even the most advanced technology was ever completely free of system malfunctions. “Or it exhausted its energy supply – in which case it was suicidal to launch an attack in the first place. By the look of it, the ships would have kept ignoring it, had they not known that it represented a threat.”

“Malfunctions are hard to foretell,” Harper said snippishly, insulted on the behalf of the satellite’s maintenance crew… if it had had one at all. Then he turned to Dylan. “So, boss; our goal had just been blown to hell – what are we gonna do now?”

“Search the battlefield for survivors,” Dylan replied grimly.

Harper shot him a disbelieving look. “You’re hoping to find any survivors out _there_? There’s nothing but charred debris, ya know!”

“We have to try, at the very least,” Dylan said. “And then we’ll follow those Wraith ships and try to help the people they’re planning to destroy.”

“Great,” Tyr growled. “Another foolish act of noble sacrifice. I would like to point out, _Captain_ , that those ships are a lot bigger than ours. And neither PDLs nor the fullerene mesh would provide any protection against energy weapons.”

“Then we’ll just have to trust _Andromeda_ ’s protective armour, won’t we?” Dylan replied amiably. “Beka, resume course. Best speed.”

“Resuming course, yes, Captain Hunt, sir,” Beka said with barely veiled irony and carried out his orders.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Even at top speed, it took the _Andromeda_ several hours to reach the battle site, as they didn’t dare to look for eventual slipstream routes and thus had to travel by traditional means. As expected, the remaining two ships were already gone, the satellite, from which they’d hoped to direct them to the elusive Earth people (assumed it was the same Earth) already destroyed. Debris, intermixed with unidentifiable organic residue, was flying everywhere; it was not an encouraging sight.

“Scan the debris for lifesigns; any lifesigns,” Dylan ordered Rev Bem. “We need some answers here.”

Rev Bem did as he’d been asked – and his ears perked up.

“I’ve found one human lifesign among the debris,” he said.

“Only one?” Dylan asked. The Magog inclined his head.

“Only one,” he said in regret. “It seems to be in a lifepod of some sort. Perhaps he’d managed to escape before the satellite was blown up.”

“And he’s definitely alive?” Dylan was genuinely surprised. It had to be _some_ lifepod to keep its passenger safe after an explosion of this magnitude.

“He is now,” Rev Bem said, “but I can’t tell you how long yet.”

Dylan glanced at Tyr. “Can we fish him out of all that junk?”

The Nietzschean shrugged. “Technically, it is possible. The question is, should we risk further damage to our ship for a stranger?”

“Thanks, that was what I wanted to hear,” Dylan turned to Harper. “Mr. Harper, rig Hangar 7 for rescue. Beka, plot a course to intercept. Tyr, keep your eyes on the weapons controls.”

The Nietzschean made a derisive snort. “As if I would let them out of my eyes for a moment! Your blind idealism will get us all killed one day.”

“Idealism has gotten me this far,” Dylan replied with a shrug, “which means I must be doing something right.”

“Yeah, because you have come _sooo_ far,” Tyr snorted again. “Let us just hope you will be still here tomorrow to pat yourself on the back.”

Dylan ignored him. “Make the bucky cables ready,” he ordered. “We must pull that lifepod aboard before it runs out of air.”

It took some fancy flying on Beka’s side and some skill on Harper’s, but after two failed attempts – it just wasn’t easy to get a grip on something that _small_ – the lifepod was safely parked in Hangar 7.

“Mr. Harper, go down and see if you can open it,” Dylan said. “I’ll send down the Marias with a gurney to get our… _guest_ to the medical deck, where Trance can take care of him… her… whatever. I’ll follow you shortly.”

Harper nodded and jogged out, eager to lay his hands on this unknown piece of technology. Tyr waved Sword of Midnight to take over his station and followed.

“Would you care to tell me where are you going, Tyr?” Dylan’s voice stopped him in the doorway.

He looked back over his shoulder. “Harper can’t be left alone any longer. He is... close to the critical point.”

“I... see.” The defeated tone of Dylan’s voice revealed that the captain had understood. “Well, in that case… carry on.”

Tyr nodded and ran off after Harper.

“Starlight, take over for Beka and follow the track of those ships,” Dylan said to the Ruby Than. “We’re going to the medical deck.”

Glittering Starlight wiggled her antennae in agreement and switched places with Beka, who followed Dylan out.

“Well,” Rev Bem said placidly. “Have I just been left in command?”

“It seems so,” Rommie answered, “but don’t worry, Rev. I’ll support you.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
When Beka and Dylan reached the medical deck, Harper and Tyr were already there, staring at the silent figure on the examination table. It was definitely a human being, at least to the naked eye: a young, dark-skinned male in a fairly good shape, with short-cropped, springy black hair, wearing a nondescript red coverall. Handsome, too, although a little battered. The escape from the satellite – if, indeed, he’d been there in the first place – must have been a rough one. He had a bleeding cut on his forehead, presumably from a harsh encounter with the edge of something within the lifepod, and was probably concussed, from the impact, knocking him out.

Trance, still not looking all that grand herself – in fact, she looked even worse than before, Beka found – was busily examining her patient with a medical scanner. There were various tubes and wires attached to the man’s arms and temples, and the screen at the head of the examination table was blinking frantically.

“No genetic enhancements at all,” Trance said, checking the results. “I’d say he is genetically identical with the Earth norm of the twentieth or twenty-first century, according to the files in the medical history database. Congratulations, Harper; you’re no longer the only mudfoot on this ship.”

The patient groaned a little and muttered something unintelligible. Then he twitched and repeated it, this time much clearer, although still without opening his eyes.

“Rodney, I told you to get the hell out of it!”

“And he speaks English, too,” Harper commented, “although the accent is ridiculous. Sounds like an old movie. Boss, I think we might have found one of the people we’ve been looking for.”

“I hope so,” Dylan said, “because in that case he’ll be able to point us in the right direction. Trance, can you wake him up?”

“I’ve already injected him with some healing nanobots, but we should wait for him to regain consciousness on his own,” Trance replied. “I don’t know how much of our medication he can take.”

“Oh, come on, Trance, it’s unlikely that he’d have a worse immune system then mine,” Harper pointed out, “and you never hesitated to treat _me_.” _Except when it really counted_ , he added in thought and glanced down at his swollen lower body in defeat.

Trance rolled her eyes, missing the real point… perhaps deliberately. “Harper, your immune system is practically nonexistent!”

Harper nodded. “My point exactly. So if your methods didn’t harm _me_ – at least I _hope_ they never did – they’ll hardly do _him_ any harm, am I right or am I right?”

Trance looked at Dylan uncertainly, which was strange. She’d never hesitated before when it came to the treatment of a patient. It almost seemed as if she was unsure about her own abilities – which, too, was a first, and made Tyr think.

“Dylan, I really don’t know,” she began, but Dylan interrupted her.

“Wake him up, Trance. We need answers, and we need them now. A concussion won’t kill him.”

Trance shrugged, her tail coiling in displeasure. “On your responsibility,” she said, injecting the patient with a mild stimulant.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Coming to – and that in one, relatively unharmed piece, aside from the strong possibility of a concussion – was something Peter Grodin had _not_ expected. At all. On the other hand, considering the fact that he found himself lying on an examination table in some kind of high-tech lab (presumably as a test object), tended to by a bizarre purple creature with a tail, he was perhaps dead and in some strange afterlife.

The others surrounding the table, although seemingly human, looked pretty fantastic, too. There was a tall guy in some sort of dark uniform – the same sort Peter had seen on Lieutenant Ford’s vid from M85-393, and presumably the same guy, too – with hair too long for any known military organization in two galaxies to tolerate… a mercenary perhaps? The lean blonde on his side, in her skimpy little black shirt, might seem fragile, but Peter would have sworn that she was tougher than nails. There was another man, as big as the first one, who looked like an over-enthusiastic bodybuilder on steroids, complete with dreadlocks, skin-tight leather pants and a ridiculous chain mail. Things that looked like small horns adorned his leather bracers… perhaps trophies?

“Hey, boss, he’s coming to,” a cheerful voice said, and Peter’s glance fell upon a slight, blond man with spiky hair that would have put Major Sheppard’s usual hairdo to shame, and with lines of forcibly repressed pain around his blue eyes. He was wearing baggy pants, a loose shirt of such bright fuchsia colour that it positively hurt the eye, and something that was unmistakably a tool belt around his waist.

An engineer or a mechanic, Peter decided, feeling better from that small sight of normalcy. And he spoke English, too, although with a strange accent Peter had never heard before. It was related to American English from afar, but it was very different at the same time.

But at least it offered a chance for mutual understanding, and Peter decided to grab that chance.

“Who are you people?” he asked. “And _where_ am I anyway?”

“You’re on the medical deck of my ship, the _Andromeda Ascendant_ ,” the big guy with the dark uniform said. “I’m Captain Dylan Hunt, and the others are my command staff. And you would be…”

His English was almost completely avoid of any recognizable accent and sounded a bit weird. As if he’d learned it from a book or from old language tapes. As if it weren’t his first language, despite his decidedly English-sounding name.

Peter decided to be very careful. Granted, these people rescued him, but their intentions were still unknown.

“My name is Peter Grodin,” he replied simply, not lying but not offering any information that wasn’t absolutely necessary. “I’m an engineer.”

Hearing that, the short blond man’s eyes lit up like a Christmas tree.

“You are? Man, that’s cool,” he proffered a small but surprisingly strong hand, and Peter shook it carefully. “Seamus Zelazny Harper, at your service: engineer, super-genius and all-round miracle worker.”

Peter laughed (and winced at the pain stabbing his head from it at once). He couldn’t help it. The engineer – _Harper_ – sounded too much like Rodney McKay, only in a more cheerful way. Apparently, most talented engineers had huge egos. Radek Zelenka must have been the exception of the rule.

That reminded Peter his more pressing issues.

“Look,” he said, “I’m grateful that you’ve fished me out of the debris, but we all might be in grave danger here.”

“We are not,” the dark-skinned bodybuilder type said, turning intense amber eyes at him. “The Wraith ships have left well before our arrival.”

“You know about the Wraith?” Peter asked in surprise. “What planet are you from? How comes that the Wraith left you alone long enough to develop space-faring technology?”

“We’re new to this galaxy and got here by accident,” the guy who’d called himself Captain Hunt answered. “It’s a long story, and we don’t have the time to tell you just now. But yes, we do know about the Wraith – we’ve visited a planet named Hoff, and the locals were rather… forthcoming with information concerning the Wraith.”

Peter was strangely comforted to hear that the Hoffans – at least the half of them that had survived the Wraith-repelling virus – were still going on with their lives, looking out for allies… and finding them. Carson would be relieved to hear that.

“Then you were the ones who visited M85-393… the planet with the twin suns?” he asked. Seeing their baffled expressions, he grinned. “We had a scouting team on that planet at the same time.”

“Does that mean you’re the people who have supposedly come from Earth?” Captain Hunt asked. “The ones who supported the Hoffans while creating their virus and then broke up contact with them?”

Peter nodded… and regretted it at once. Concussions were no fun at all.

“There were… moral considerations,” he explained. “We strongly opposed the mass distribution of the virus before its side effects could be properly tested. The Hoffans didn’t want to wait. As a result, they eradicated half their population. We couldn’t condone those actions.”

“Yeah, but the other half of them is now immune,” Mr. Dark-and-Overmuscled pointed out.

“Let’s not get involved in this particular topic right now, Tyr,” the captain said. Then he turned back to Peter. “Mr. Grodin, we’ve been looking for your people for quite some time, in the hope that we could help each other. We need to find a way to get back where we’ve come from, and you, obviously, need help against the Wraith.”

“And you would be able and willing to provide that help?” Peter asked in mild suspicion. The captain nodded.

“The _Andromeda Ascendant_ is a High Guard _Glorious Heritage_ -class heavy cruiser,” he answered. “She has forty missile launchers, each capable of firing eight missiles per second. As the missiles are all about the size of a fist, she holds enough of them to keep firing for hours. The antiproton cannons have the same high rate of fire, so I’m sure we’d have a fair chance against those hive ships, unless they have very advanced shield technology.”

“Wraith ships have no shield technology at all,” Peter replied. “They rely on their organic armour and massive firepower. Against incoming missiles, they usually defend themselves with the help of the Darts – small one-man fighters – that intercept the missiles before those can reach the ships themselves. If your missiles are small, numerous and agile enough for Dart interception, they have a good chance to get through and cause serious enough damage to destroy the ships.”

“Sounds like they use their small fighters the same way we use the point defence lasers,” the exotic dark warrior with the name of a Nordic god commented. “With the not insignificant difference that we cannot use the PDLs as a defence against energy weapons. All comes down to the question how much the armour of the _Andromeda_ can take. If she can hold out long enough for us to destroy the hive ships. If she cannot, we are dead.”

“It is an acceptable risk, Captain,” a calm female voice said, and, to Peter’s mild shock, the life-sized holographic image of a pretty, vaguely Asian woman in some futuristic uniform blinked into existence at the foot of the examination table. “If we take the surprise effect into calculation, I can take out those hive ships. I am more maneuverable than they are, and my PDLs can be highly effective against the Darts. If Mr. Grodin can provide me with more details about those ships, I can work out a battle plan with you on our way.”

“On your way _where_?” Peter asked, deciding to ignore the question of the woman’s – hologram’s – identity for the time being.

“I hoped _you’d_ answer that for me,” she replied. “I’m currently following the Wraith ships. But if I knew their exact destination, I might be able to catch up with them before they reach it.”

“They’re heading for Atlantis,” Peter said. “We’ve tried to use the satellite weapon to stop them here, but, as you can see, with limited success.”

“Speaking of which,” the little engineer said, “what happened to the satellite? You’ve shot the first ship pretty much to crap – why not the other two?”

“The satellite had been damaged in a former war, long ago, when its builders still dwelled in this galaxy,” Peter explained. “We’ve repaired it as well as we could – it cost us a good man to do so – but the bypass didn’t hold long. The first shot blew the circuits to hell, and I was trapped inside. I honestly didn’t expect to survive, but the failure must have triggered the safety mechanism; I was dropped into that lifepod and ejected, just milliseconds before the satellite exploded.”

“I’m surprised that the shockwave didn’t catch the pod,” the blonde woman said.

“Actually, it did,” Peter grinned ruefully. “That was when I hit my head… pretty hard. I was out like a light for the rest, until I came to here,” he sat up on the table carefully, trying to fight off the new wave of nausea. “Now, if you can help me to a decent computer station, I can give you all the details I remember.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
It took some time and effort to get the concussed engineer to the command deck, but once Grodin understood the basics of how the _Andromeda_ ’s onboard systems worked, Harper became increasingly excited about having him aboard. He didn’t need long to understand that the other man was a lot more than just a simple engineer. Simple engineers had no doctorates in optimized network data storage and topology control. Or in microsatellite propulsion and altitude control systems. Even though the level of technology Grodin was familiar with was way below his own experience, Harper had, for the first time in his life, the chance to talk shop with someone of equal potential. Someone _human_ anyway. Working with Höhne was a different matter entirely.

Having another unmodified human aboard, with whom he could have conversations nobody but Rommie would understand was almost too good to believe.

It was a crying shame that he wouldn’t have enough time to enjoy it fully. He knew that the little monsters inside him could hatch any time now – and, despite the honest efforts of the Hoffan doctors, a cure was still nowhere to see. He’d accepted the fact that he would die, and that very soon. He even kept Tyr company, so that the Nietzschean would be able to deal him a clean and painless death. Those were the facts that he could not change.

But it irked him very much that it had to happen _now_ , when he’d finally have the chance to meet Earth people like they had always meant to be: in change of their own fate, full of potential, free to do as they pleased, even if they _had_ made some horrible choices. He’d have liked to learn more about this Earth; to see it, at least on vids, if a real visit was not possible.

Those damned larvae were about to take _that_ from him, and that pissed him off to no end.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Despite Grodin’s help and his extensive knowledge of the Lantian system – as the solar system containing the planet with Atlantis floating on its ocean was apparently called – they hadn’t managed to catch up with the hive ships in time, after all. They had still no knowledge about potential slipstream routes within the Pegasus galaxy, and the conventional engines didn’t make it possible for them to dip into hyperspace the same way the Wraith hive ships did.

“Wraith hive ships are only capable of limited FTL travel,” Grodin explained. “Their hyperdrives are not as efficient as the ones used by other races, such as the Asgard. Instead, they have to travel in a series of jumps and, depending on the distance, must take breaks to allow the organic hull to recover from the effects of hyperspace radiation. Asgard – or Ancient – ships didn’t have this problem. In fact, the experimental interstellar vessels being built back on Earth could outrun any Wraith ship easily.”

“Too bad you don’t have any of those here,” Beka commented.

“Well, we only had one, and not in the best shape either,” Grodin shrugged. “And it’s needed for other, more pressing purposes. Besides, it would take the _Prometheus_ months to get here, even if she weren’t needed at home. We’re a very long way from Earth.”

“How did you get here in the first place?” Dylan asked.

“Since you’ve visited M85-393 from Hoff, I assume you know about the existence of Stargates?” Grodin asked back. Dylan nodded. “Well, with the right power source, the Gate can be powered up to make even intergalactic travels possible. Unfortunately, the effort to get here has completely burned out the only such power source we had. We’ve been looking for a new one ever since we got here a year or so ago.”

“Never found any?” Harper sympathized. “Man, that sucks!”

“Actually, we’ve found two, so far,” Grodin answered. “But the first one protected a settlement of young children from Wraith attacks, and the other one was considered a holy object by the planets inhabitants and we couldn’t get our hands on it. Not without slaughtering the inhabitants first, and we've opted against _that_ solution.”

“That is the problem with you humans,” Tyr commented dryly. “This stupid, sentimental weakness. As long as you put the survival of others before your own, you will inevitably lose, every time.”

“Perhaps,” Grodin replied with a shrug, “but at least we can look into the mirror without the urge to spit at ourselves.”

“ _I look_ into the mirror each morning,” Tyr said, “and I am content with what I see: a survivor, with no living enemies left behind to come back and kill me… or to _try_ it, anyway.”

“Yeah, but you’re a Niet, and _Übers_ are bred to be treacherous, selfish bastards,” Harper declared breezily. “The rest of us, ordinary scum, don’t have the luxury of a complete lack of conscience.”

Tyr turned those piercing amber eyes at him, and for a moment, the others were seriously worried about Harper’s continuing existence. Baiting a Nietzschean wasn’t a very wise thing, especially not for scrawny little _kludges_ who barely reached to said Nietzschean’s shoulder. Even if the Nietzschean had made certain promises to the _kludge_.

“That is what you expect from me, boy?” Tyr asked. “To turn against you and betray you?”

“If it would serve your best interests? Yeah, I do,” Harper replied honestly. “My faith in the very few constants of the multiverse would be badly shaken if I thought you would act any differently.”

“Good.” The Nietzschean suddenly grinned, and the rest of the _Andromeda_ crew released their collectively held breath, because despite everything they had gone through together in the last year, one could never really know how Tyr would react. “There is hope for you yet.”

“Depends on what you mean with _hope_ ,” Harper muttered under his breath, but they couldn’t continue their banter because Rommie – this time the motherboard version – appeared on one of the screens.

“We are entering Lantean orbit, Captain,” she reported. “It seems that the battle for Atlantis has already begun. Wraith Darts are attacking the city, and I can read two hive ships in high orbit. I’m also picking up communication, audio only – do you want to eavesdrop?”

“By all means, put them on the speakers,” Dylan said.

Rommie blinked, and a slightly distorted male voice came through the loudspeakers.

“They haven't detected my approach,” it said. “Weapon is armed and ready. I'm going in.”

Dylan looked at their guest. “Anyone you know?”

“It does sound like Major Sheppard,” Grodin answered worriedly. “They must have worked out some kind of plan to stop the hive ships. Can you read a small vessel, not much bigger than a Dart, with a human lifesign within?”

Dylan looked at Rev Bem. The Magog shook his head. Grodin frowned.

“He must have cloaked the jumper then. But I can’t see what he hopes to achieve by going so close to the hive ships, unless…” he trailed off, his face becoming ash grey. “Dear Lord…”

Before they could have asked any questions, one of the Wraith ships went up like a supernova, momentarily blinding their scanners.

“Unless he decided to run a kamikaze attack on that ship,” Dylan murmured, understanding.

There was shocked silence on the command deck of the _Andromeda_. Only now did they begin to understand the despair and determination of the defenders of Atlantis – or, indeed of almost every Pegasus galaxy citizen. The Hoffans had been willing to sacrifice half their people to ensure the freedom of the other half. This unknown human pilot from Earth had just given his life to stop the Wraith… even if it was only a temporary achievement, as his self-sacrifice hadn’t solved the problem presented by the _other_ ship.

“Atlantis, this is Jumper Two,” an unexpected female voice from the loudspeakers broke the silence. “I have visual proof that Major Sheppard has succeeded. I’m moving in onto the second target.”

“Understood, Lieutenant,” another female voice replied, sounding tired and full of sorrow. “Thank you – from us all.”

“It’s an honour, ma’am,” the female pilot answered. “You’ll see it if… _when_ I succeed. Lindstrom out.”

“Oh God, Lisa,” Grodin whispered. “Don’t do this!”

“Rommie,” Dylan said, “can you cut into her comm line?”

“I need a moment for that, Captain,” Rommie answered.

“Hurry up,” Dylan ordered. “Mr. Grodin, you talk to her. Make her back off – and when we’re at it already, can you recommend me any specific target on the hive ship?”

“The Dart bays, either on the port or on the starboard side,” Grodin said promptly. “They have no doors keeping things in or out, and secondary explosions can be quite large, as we’ve just witnessed.”

“Good,” Dylan said. “Tyr, target the closer Dart bay. Rommie, do you have that connection?”

“Channel open,” Rommie said. “You can speak, Doctor Grodin.”

Grodin cleared his throat nervously. “Lieutenant Lindstrom, this is Doctor Grodin. I’ve brought the cavalry. Get the hell out of there before we lose our element of surprise.”

For a moment, there was stunned silence on the other end of the connection, and then the crisp, professional voice of the pilot replied.

“Going to safe distance in a moment… assuming that you can give me a security code, sir.”

“Of course,” Grodin rattled down a rather long code. “Happy now? Can we shoot?”

“Acknowledged, sir,” the pilot said, now with a smile in her voice. “Target area cleared. She’s all yours.”

“Captain,” Rommie interrupted. “We have incoming enemy fighters, bearing three-two-zero. Multiple vectors.”

“How many of them?” Dylan asked.

“Five hundred are already within combat radius,” Rommie reported. “More are closing up.”

“Deploy combat drones,” Dylan ordered. “How many of those Darts does a Wraith hive ship have?”

“Thousands,” Grodin replied grimly. “They also capable of carrying three cruisers. These usually function as escorts.”

“Lovely,” Dylan commented. “Tyr, all forward missile launchers stand by. And launch all slipfighters – we need to even out things a little.”

“Target launched,” Tyr said calmly. “Slipfighters one through four launched.”

“Fire,” Dylan said, and the Nietzschean punched the buttons.

Harper and Grodin watched together on the tactical screen as an entire swarm of small missiles flew from _Andromeda_ towards the hive ship. Darts fired at them, trying to deflect them enough, so that they would impact more or less harmlessly on the surface of the ship. But _Andromeda_ ’s missiles were too small, too fast and too numerous. At least half of them got through, causing spectacular explosions in the targeted Dart bay. At the same time, the spiky combat drones engaged a number of darts, trying to destroy them while still near their mothership.

From _Andromeda_ , four slipfighters launched in elegant arcs, intercepting any Wraith darts that might have gotten dangerously close. Grinning ferally, Tyr was multitasking at the fire controls, targeting Darts and the hive ship at the same time and trying not to shoot the Than in the slipfighters.

“My life,” a quartet of Than voices chorused across the ether. “My soul. For the hive. For the hive.”

It was said in Vedran, which Harper translated to a frowning Grodin, explaining that it was a common Than battle cry and adding that there was no need to worry, just because the bugs lived in hives.

“They haven’t got a hive mind or any such crap,” he said. “In fact, they’re highly individual and stubborn as hell – but in a good way.”

“I guess I’ll have to take your word for that,” Grodin replied dryly.

Between them, the Than in the slipfighters and the combat drones were shooting Wraith Darts off the sky by the dozens. But the _Andromeda_ got a serious beating from the hive ship’s energy weapons as well, since her armoured hull was the only protection against energy pulses.

“I've lost connections with the lower decks,” holo-Rommie reported.

“Well, aren’t we lucky that we don’t have any personnel down there?” Dylan asked. “What about hull integrity, Harper?”

“We've got multiple hull breaches,” Harper answered, paling. “I’m cutting life support on those decks. But boss, at this rate we're not gonna make it. We oughtta do something, and real fast, or we’ll be stardust within moments!”

“Don’t worry, Mr. Harper, we _are_ about to do something,” Dylan replied. “Tyr, full power to the AP cannons. We’re gonna end this right here, right now.”

“It was about time,” the Nietzschean snorted. “Beka, bring us in closer, we’re still barely within range.”

Grodin gave Harper a worried glance. “What is he talking about?”

“Antiproton cannons,” Harper replied, rerouting all available power to said weapons. “They have a much lower range than the missile launchers, but are extremely deadly when used in close combat. They are like a blowtorch moving through the lighter material of a ship’s hull.”

“Target locked,” Tyr’s voice interrupted him. “Firing AP cannons… now!”

The big screen showed the Wraith ship being hit by numerous green bolts and shaking. There were secondary explosions all over the Dart bay, spreading like wildfire.

“They are nearing critical,” Tyr commented from his fire control station, grinning like a shark. “Explosion immediate. I suggest that we back off; there is going to be one hell of a shockwave.”

Dylan nodded. “Warn the slipfighters and that lady pilot from Atlantis. Beka, reverse course. Everyone, brace for impact!”

“Reversing course,” Beka acknowledged, and the Than warriors reported back as well.

In the next moment, the hive ship went off in a huge explosion. The shockwave hit the _Andromeda_ hard, and for a moment, Grodin was seriously worried about Lisa Lindstrom. He could only hope that she’d been able to outrun the shockwave. Fortunately, puddle jumpers were fast.

“Everyone all right?” Dylan asked. There were agreeing noises all around, and he looked at Rommie. “Give me the slipfighters.”

“They’re on,” Rommie replied.

“Midnight,” Dylan said, addressing the ranking Emerald Than warrior. “Go after those cruisers. If they manage to call in reinforcements, we’re in serious trouble.”

“Understood,” Sword of Midnight replied crisply, and the slipfighters moved in to intercept the Wraith cruisers. However, those just broke off their attack – and vanished from the tactical screen.

“What happened?” Dylan asked with a frown.

“Unknown, Captain,” Sword of Midnight answered. “They’re just… _gone_.”

“They’ve entered hyperspace,” Grodin said. “Without a hyperdrive, you won’t be able to catch them anymore. If I may make a suggestion – Atlantis could use more direct help right now.”

“All right,” Dylan said, realizing that the man was right. “Rev, hail the city for me.”

“They’re answering,” the Magog said a moment later. “You can speak.”

“Thanks,” Dylan cleared his throat, then he announced, in his official ‘captain’s voice’. “This is Dylan Hunt, commander of the High Guard ship _Andromeda Ascendant_. Atlantis, do you require any further assistance?”

There was some unintelligible noise on the other end of the connection, caused by people shouting various warnings at the same time. Someone mentioned the Wraith being already in Atlantis, someone else warned about incoming Darts. Finally, a competent-sounding female voice – the same one they’d heard speaking to the lady pilot still out somewhere – answered.

“Captain Hunt, this is Dr. Theresa Weir. I’m in charge of Atlantis, you could say. And yes, we’d greatly appreciate any further assistance that you might provide.”

“We’ve heard you,” Dylan said. “We’ll take care of the smaller ships – and then come down and help you with the invaders. Hunt out.”


	17. Liberation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some elements might seem familiar from the three-parter “The Siege”. However, let me assure you that they are, in fact, very different from the original.
> 
> Beta read by erinnyes, thanks.

**CHAPTER 16 – LIBERATION**

Carson and Rodney, who’d watched the screen anxiously, slumped into two empty chairs, weakened with relief.

“Oh, thank God!” they said in unison.

Behind them, Sergeant Lenoir was already organizing the return of everyone who was willing to help hunting down and finishing off the Wraith still in the city. The Stargate was dialled up and a wormhole to the Alpha Site was established. A moment later the radio crackled again.

“Atlantis, what is your situation?” the leader of the cavalry asked.

Theresa looked at Lorne. “You speak to him, Major – two soldiers understand each other better during battle.”

Lorne nodded. “Understood, ma’am.” Then he raised his voice a little. “Captain Hunt, this is Major Lorne. We’ve suffered some damage and lost quite a few people, but we’ll live. The main problem is that there still are a lot of Darts out there, and we can’t power up the defensive shields. I don’t think this battle is over yet.”

“He is right,” someone aboard the unknown ship said. “The Dart fleet is regrouping.”

“Take your position and stand by for defensive fire,” the captain ordered.

“ _We_ are not the target,” the other voice, most likely that of the ship’s weapons officer, answered. “The formation is headed towards Atlantis.”

“Can we intercept?” the captain asked.

“The slipfighters can, but _we_ might not be fast enough,” a female voice, presumably that of the ship’s pilot, replied.

“Well, _try_ ,” the captain said. “How many targets?”

“Dozens,” the weapons officer’s voice again. “Close to one hundred, in fact.”

“Fire at will,” the captain said. “Slipfighters, move in to intercept as many of them as possible. Rommie, how many combat drones do we have left?”

“Perhaps two dozen or so,” a slightly artificial-sounding female voice answered.

“Redirect them to protect the city,” the captain ordered. “Beka, best speed!”

The people in Atlantis’ Control room watched the screen with bated breath. The dots representing the numerous Wraith Darts approached the city with alarming speed. The four slipfighters of the _Andromeda_ , however, were even faster, reaching the city way before the darts, and taking up defensive positions, while _Andromeda_ herself was firing at them from behind and the combat drones were attacking from the sides. Nonetheless, the Darts still vastly outnumbered them, and it seemed that sooner or later, a few of them would get through.

“This won’t work,” Zelenka said gloomily. “Their approach is ballistic, and there aren’t enough ships to intercept them.”

“What do you mean 'ballistic'?” Theresa asked.

“Their impact velocities will be in excess of ten thousand kilometres an hour,” Zelenka explained. “No part of the city can withstand that.”

“I see,” Theresa said. She was beyond fear by now; the only feeling she still had was a strange serenity. “Sergeant, hold on with the return of our people from the Alpha Site for… how much time do we have?”

“Forty-five seconds,” Zelenka replied.

“Crap,” McKay sighed. “We’re so dead.”

“Not necessarily,” a shockingly familiar voice answered through the radio. “I still have my… _package_ here and am on my way to deploy it in the middle of the Wraith swarm. I’ll detonate it with a well-aimed shot in twenty seconds… or so I hope.”

Zelenka tilted his head in surprise. “Lieutenant Lindstrom? But we’ve seen explosion… we thought…”

“Later, Doc,” Lisa interrupted. “Package deployed. Slipfighters, get the hell out of there at my mark. This is gonna be a big explosion in five… four… three… two… MARK!”

The slipfighters wheeled out of the way with incredible speed and skills. Through the windows of the Control room, the Atlantis people could see the whole sky above the Lantean ocean turn blinding white. The screen displayed the devastating effects of the explosion, caused by the makeshift _naquadah_ bomb… then all screens went temporarily dark, as the detonation EMP hit the city’s systems. Fortunately, the Earth-issue laptops were still powered down, or they’d have burned out beyond repair.

As the flash subsided, Carson opened his laptop to check the radiation levels.

“Slightly above the usual tolerance limits but nothin’ we couldnae cure easily,” he reported in relief.

“That’s good to hear,” Theresa said with a tired smile. “Radek, what about the Darts?”

“Scanners need recovery time,” Zelenka shrugged, “but we’re still here, so it must have been successful maneuver, _ne_?”

“But if Lieutenant Lindstrom hasn’t blown up the last hive ship, who’s done it?” Lorne asked.

“My guess would be newly arrived ship with long name,” Zelenka slid to the floor and leaned against the bulkhead. “Need sleep now.” And he fell promptly asleep, shoulders slumped forward, chin resting on his chest.

Rodney wanted to shake him awake but Theresa didn’t allow it.

“Give him a few minutes,” she said. “Let’s try to find out what’s happened to the Darts before you chase him back to work.”

Rodney opened his mouth to protest – after all, _he_ wasn’t allowed to rest, either – but a second glance at Zelenka’s face, grey with exhaustion, made him change his mind. Radek was smaller and physically weaker than him; a couple of years older, too. He needed those few minutes, even if there was no hope for more.

“Right, right,” he said, too highly strung to rest right now anyway. “Let’s call that ship, should we?”

But before they could have done so, a static-filled message came through the loudspeakers.

“Atlantis… I repeat… This is Hunt. What’s your status?”

Zelenka opened one bleary eye and looked up to Theresa like a bird. “Explosions… must have disrupted… radio signals,” he whispered. Then that one eye fell shut again and he began to snore softly.

“Well, we’re still here,” Rodney answered to the captain of the _Andromeda_ snappishly. “That’s our status.”

“Rodney,” Theresa warned. “We’re well enough, Captain Hunt, thanks for your assistance.”

“Glad to be of help,” Hunt replied. “We’re going to stay in geosynchronous orbit for the time being. Can we be of any further assistance?”

“As a mater of fact… yes, you can,” Theresa answered. “We still have an unknown number of Wraith in the city that need to be dealt with.”

“I’ll send down everyone who can help with that,” Hunt promised. “Is there any place where our fighters can land?”

“They can use the east pier as a landing zone,” Sergeant Lenoir said at Theresa’s questioning look.

“I’ve heard it,” Hunt said. “Any idea where inside the city those Wraith might be?”

Theresa looked at Lenoir again, who shook his head.

“Afraid not, sir,” he replied. “Most of our sensors are still down, but we do know that several dozen of them might have beamed out of their kamikaze fighters in the last moment. We’ll provide more data as soon as we can have them.”

“All right,” Hunt said. “The slipfighters have just landed. Their pilots are sentient insects, so don’t panic if you see human-sized bugs roaming the city. Try not to shoot them. The rest of us will board the _Eureka Maru_ and follow. Hunt out.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Aiden Ford and his team had never learned about the lucky turn of events that had ended the siege of Atlantis with the – at least temporary – defeat of the Wraith and the loss of all three hive ships and their darts. They had taken up their defensive positions right after Sheppard’s suicide run, and were soon thereafter way too occupied to watch their surroundings, having to face off against two teams of Wraith and their guards who have beamed down in front of and behind the team simultaneously. 

Not to mention so close that the Marines had barely enough room to aim their weapons at the Wraith.

“Defence!” Aiden ordered through clenched teeth. He knew it was hopeless, that they didn’t stand a rat’s chance, but he also knew they wouldn’t give their lives cheaply. The more of these monsters they could take out, the less threat it meant to the rest of Atlantis.

The Marines opened fire. They were a well-trained unit, perhaps the best in the city, but Wraith were notoriously hard to kill… and way too close to begin with. Some of them went down for good, but the rest of them rushed in and went hand-to-hand with the Marines. Bosco Teague was the first who was shot – not with a stunner but with some sort of energy weapon that caused an ugly, bleeding wound on his midriff. McKinney and Rickman got tossed around and thrown to the ground, their limbs in a grotesquely twisted position that made them look like broken dolls. Toussaint fired at the Wraith like a madman, dodging their attacks with surprising agility (even for him), until one of them shot him in the back.

That left Aiden and Yamato – a short, deceivingly slender soldier of Japanese origins, who could throw around beefy Marines twice his size, under normal circumstances. He went against the Wraith in the same fearless manner. But these monsters were larger and much stronger than any human being – or a Jaffa, for that matter. The strength and the martial arts skills that had helped Yamato to stand up to Teal’c back at the SGC proved insufficient against the Wraith.

The terrible, dry snap as his neck was broken distracted Aiden for one fateful second – just long enough for one of the Wraith guards to grab him by the throat and push him up against the balcony. 

That was it, and he knew it. There was no-one to help him now. His men were scattered on the metal floor all around him, dead or dying. Badly wounded, 'Boss' Teague, next to him, had still the strength – barely – to take the pin out of a grenade, and Aiden mentally thanked him for the upcoming quick and merciful death.

The Wraith, still holding Aiden by the throat, raised its other hand and slammed it into Aiden’s chest. The pain was more intense than anything Aiden had ever felt before – as if he’d been torn apart alive, piece by piece. He thought of Colonel Sumner for a fleeting moment, thankful that Sheppard had been there to deal the man a merciful death… just as Teague would do for him in seconds. He couldn’t see Teague move anymore – the big man must have passed out… or died. But he could see the grenade rolling from his hand, right to the Wraith’s feet… where it exploded. The shockwave threw him – and the Wraith, whose back had been fully hit by the explosion – over the balcony, and together they plunged into the ocean below.

Fortunately for Aiden, he was already unconscious when they hit the ice cold water.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
The _Eureka Maru_ landed on the east pier of Atlantis, where they were welcomed by a tall, coldly handsome man wearing some sort of military uniform. The man had dark blue eyes, a still angry red scar on one cheek – he must have gotten it recently – and short, ash-blond hair that he wore in bristling spikes.

“Relative of yours, Harper?” Beka asked, and the little engineer, armed to the teeth like the rest of them, scowled at her in annoyance.

“Ha-ha, _very_ funny, boss! I’d like you to know that we Harpers don’t breed for brawn. He might have the looks, but he’d hardly have the intelligence to go with it.”

The man gave him an amused look.

“I don’t know whether I’ve been just insulted or complimented,” he said with a harsh accent. English probably wasn’t his first language, either.

“With Harper, it’s probably the same,” Beka replied. “Don’t take it personally, he’s like that with all people.”

Mr. Tall-Blond-and-Military grinned at Harper. “Scientist?” he asked.

“Engineer,” Harper corrected. “Engineer and super genius, if you really have to know.”

The man’s grin grew in width. “Close enough. In the self-confidence department, too, it seems. You sound like our head scientist.”

“And _you_ would be…?” Dylan asked.

“Sorry,” the man apologized. “I’m Major Ralph Vogel, currently the leader of military operations here. Welcome to Atlantis.”

“You’re the military leader of this outpost, and yet you’re wasting your time with social niceties?” Tyr asked incredulously.

Major Vogel shrugged… and winced, as if that small gesture, too, had caused him considerable pain.

“Well, someone has to do,” he said. “All able-bodied personnel are hunting for the Wraith intruders. And since I’m not exactly matching that category right now, I was expendable.”

“You’ve been injured?” Beka asked, for the man’s somewhat careful movements were a deadly give-away.

“I had a brief encounter with a hungry Wraith,” Vogel replied. “Judgement is still off on how many years I might have lost as a result, but as I said, it was brief. I was lucky. And feeding wounds heal fast.”

“To preserve the food source, I assume,” Harper said bitterly. It all sounded depressingly familiar. Like Magog infecting live people with their brood, so that the little monsters could sit right at the food source.

Vogel nodded. “Still, the fact does have its advantages… assuming one survives the attack in the first place. So, since I can’t do much good in a fight yet but am steady on my feet to walk, I’ve been sent to guide you through the city, or else you’d never find the Wraith in the first place.”

“How many targets are we talking about?” Sword of Midnight asked.

Vogel stared at the green bug in disbelief for a moment. Despite everything he’d already seen in the Pegasus galaxy, walking, talking, man-sized insects were just too weird to take in a stride. Not to mention the furry, nightmarish creature with the long, vicious, curved claws that was standing next to them.

“Between thirty and forty Darts have crashed in the first wave,” he then answered. “We assume that most of the pilots have managed to beam into the city, right before they hit. We don’t know how many other troops have been deployed during the siege. Quite a few, I fear.”

“And how do you intend to find them, with your internal sensors still down?” Dylan asked.

“Well, we have this.” As Vogel pulled a handheld scanner from his vest, they could glimpse the thick bandage under his shirt. Fast healing or not, the ‘feeding wound’ must have been an ugly one. “It can't differentiate between Wraith and human lifesigns, but since I know which areas our own search parties have been designated to, the blips that show up out of bounds will be the likely targets.”

“Oooh!” Harper practically crowed at the little gizmo. “Let me see that!”

Vogel handed it over to him readily enough. “Won’t do you any good. To be able to operate it, you’d need a very rare and specific gene that…” He trailed off, his mouth hanging literally open, as the scanner kept buzzing happily in Harper’s hand. “… that you seem to have in spades,” he finished lamely.

Harper blinked. “I do?” He stared down at the scanner in delight.

“Apparently,” Vogel had already recovered from his surprise. “Well, as you can see, there are those areas,” he pointed at the small screen of the little tool, “where we have no search parties yet. That’s here your help would be most welcome.”

“All right,” Dylan nodded. “We’ll make two teams. Rev and the green bugs will come with me. Tyr, you’ll lead the other team. Take Beka, Harper and Starlight… and your wife, since she’s insisted to come with us, which I still can’t understand.”

Vogel glanced at the tall, athletic blonde woman who had the same forearm spikes as the dark-skinned warrior with the dreadlocks and secretly agreed with Captain Hunt.

“You’ve emptied your ship, Captain?” he asked.

Dylan shrugged. “Medical personnel is still aboard, since they have a patient,” he said. “And Rommie is more than capable of handling day-to-day business.”

“Rommie?” Vogel echoed, clearly not understanding.

“ _Andromeda_ ’s artificial intelligence,” Dylan explained. “The ships of the High Guard were all sentient, Major.”

Vogel stared at him in apparent suspicion, clearly not sure whether they were pulling his leg or not. In the end, however, he decided to postpone the question for a later time, when he could deal with it properly and undisturbed.

“All right,” he said. “Since Mr. Harper seems to have the ATA gene, he’ll have no problems to operate the city’s systems. Let’s go to the nearest transporter chamber. This is a very big city as you’ll see; site-to-site transportation is the easiest way to get to your destination.”

Harper’s eyes lit up like miniature fireworks. He even ignored the gut-wrenching pain in his belly that, once again, indicated the increasing activity of his… _passengers_.

“A _teleporter_?” he repeated. “Aw, man, this is so cool… well, what are you waiting for? Show the way already, would ya?”

Major Vogel laughed at his enthusiasm and did just that.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
They got to the transporter – which made Harper’s fingers itch to take it apart and see what made it tick - and after they had split up to two groups, Major Vogel guided each group to their destination. By the time he set out Dylan’s group at its assigned area, he was deadly pale and sweating profusely. Rev Bem’s nostrils twitched.

“Major, you might want to get back to your medical deck,” he said in that scratchy voice of his. “I smell blood; perhaps your wound has opened again?”

Vogel glanced down himself. There was indeed a large red blotch on his shirt, half-covered by his open vest.

“ _Scheisse_ ,” he said weakly. “You’re right. Captain, I hate to leave you alone in unknown territory, but…”

“Just go,” Dylan waved impatiently. “You’re no use to anyone if you’re dead.”

Vogel nodded and stepped back into the transporter chamber. When the doors opened again, he was gone.

“All right,” Dylan said. ”Let’s split the area between us. Midnight, you and your fellow bugs take the corridor in the left. Don’t forget to check every single room meticulously. Those… _things_ can hide everywhere. Rev, you’re with me. We’ll go along the right corridor.”

“Is it wise to spread ourselves so thinly?” the Than asked doubtfully. Dylan shrugged.

“Perhaps not – but it’s necessary,” he said. “Let’s go!”

The Emerald warriors reluctantly obeyed and were soon gone from sight. Dylan and Rev Bem began the search in their own chosen area… which seemed abandoned. From afar, they could hear gunfire, caused by the projectile weapons the Earth people seemed to prefer (or perhaps they didn’t have anything else), but in there, everything was eerily quiet. Much too quiet for Dylan’s comfort who could feel the small hairs on the back of his neck rise. He looked at Rev Bem and saw the bat-like ears of the Magog twitch nervously.

“They’re in here, somewhere,” he whispered.

Rev Bem nodded. “I can hear movement all around us… it’s very quiet, but it’s definitely there.”

“How many?” Dylan asked.

“I don’t know,” the Magog said. “Several of them.”

“Well, the only way out of here is forward,” Dylan said philosophically. Then, as he saw something white blink up in the corridor, he yelled at Rev to duck and fired his force lance where the movement had been… the only result being the charring of the bulkhead further down the corridor. Rev Bem shook his head.

“An illusion,” he said. “We’ve been warned that they can make us see things that don’t even exist.”

“At least we have proof now that they’re indeed here,” Dylan shrugged.

“There was little doubt about that, even…” Rev Bem’s sentence was cut short as he was knocked out and hurled against the opposite wall.

A Wraith dropped out of nowhere (or so it seemed), snarling and roaring. With a sweeping movement of its arm, it knocked Dylan’s force lance aside. Momentarily imbalanced, Dylan dew his gauss pistol and fired at it ten times in rapid succession At first, the Wraith seemed unfazed, but after the eighth hit, it went down, and after the tenth, it died unceremoniously. Some wounds were just too much, even for its self-healing abilities.

Dylan smiled in grim satisfaction and turned around to see how Rev Bem was doing – which proved to be a fatal mistake. He understood that when a vicious blow knocked him off his feet. He landed on his back, gauss pistol flying across the corridor, and a Wraith – wearing some kind of protective mask that looked like metal mesh – leaning over him. It roared and tore his tunic open, slamming a hand into his chest.

Within seconds, Dylan passed out from the pain. He didn’t see Rev Bem climbing to his feet, looking around in confusion and trying to get his bearings. The Magog needed a moment to realize what was happening – having hit his head very hard, even for someone of his endurance – but then he acted quickly. With two great leaps, he was upon the Wraith, tore it away from Dylan’s limp body and threw it against the bulkhead with a brutal force nobody would have expected from his relatively short body. But Magog had been created to be merciless killing machines, and they were hard to kill, unless taken by surprise.

And they were sneaky and unpredictable, too, as this particular Wraith was just about to find out. Instead of trying to keep it at safe distance, Rev Bem leaped at it again, knocked it down, and jumping at his chest, he tore out its unprotected throat with his claws. Then he spat on the twitching body.

“I wouldn’t even want to eat you,” he told it in disgust.

“Unfortunately for you, _we_ are not so choosy when it comes to food,” someone said, and he realized he’d been careless in his urge to save Dylan.

He whirled around, screamed and spat venom into the face of the third Wraith – this one didn’t wear a mask. The Wraith snarled and hissed in pain but didn’t back off. Instead, it grabbed Rev Bem by the throat and slammed its feeding hand into his furry chest.

“Your strength will be mine,” it hissed. Paralysed, Rev Bem could do nothing but endure the pain, at which he, as a Magog, was a lot better than mere humans. He could feel his strength trickle away from his body, little by little, and he couldn’t prevent it from happening.

He prepared to close his eyes and accept the will of the Divine, when his attacker suddenly went into convulsions and let go of him. Rev was still paralysed, but he had to humbly admit with his last conscious thought that seeing the creature die in obvious pain filled him with a satisfaction entirely unbecoming of a proper Wayist monk.

When a few minutes later the Emerald Than, alerted by the gun fire, came in running, all they found were three dead Wraith, one unconscious human and a paralysed Magog.

“Search the rooms for more Wraith,” Sword of Midnight ordered his fellow bugs. “I’ll see if I can do anything to help them.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
A collective sigh of relief greeted Annalisa Lindstrom when she ran down from the jumper bay to the Control room, obviously uninjured and eager to do more.

“That was excellent work, Lieutenant,” Theresa Weir smiled at her tiredly. “We all owe you a drink. But how did you end up with the _Andromeda_?”

“I’ll tell you everything on the debriefing, ma’am,” Lisa replied. “I’ve got some unexpected good news, too. Right now, I want to help with the Wraith hunt, though. Can you assign me to a position?”

Theresa nodded. “Major Vogel is injured, so his team is without a CO right now. Join them and lead them; you were with them long enough. Where are they supposed to be, Sergeant?”

Lenoir highlighted the area on the virtual city map. “Near Generator Station Two.”

“Thanks, Chuck,” Lisa activated her radio. “Team Four, this is Lieutenant Lindstrom. Have you reached your destination already?”

“Negative,” the voice of Lt. Crown answered.

“Good,” Lisa said. “Wait for me at the nearest transporter. I’m taking over for the major.”

“Just like in old times,” Allison Crown laughed. “Welcome back, and hurry up!”

“On my way,” Lisa replied and ran.

When she arrived, she found Crown and three _Bundeswehr_ soldiers there, as well as Dr. Moosekian, the scruffy little Armenian engineer, who’d stayed in Atlantis to go Dr. Zelenka to hand.

“Where are the others?” Lisa asked with a frown. There should have been twice as many people; Major Vogel’s wasn’t a scout team.

“We’ve become separated somehow,” Lt. Crown told her. “I’m sure they’ll be all right. Shall we check on the generator?”

“That would be advisable,” Dr. Moosekian said. “Our power supplies had been severely cut as it is. Losing another generator would be… inconvenient.”

As if confirming his words, the power suddenly went out. Somewhere ahead of them shots were being fired in the darkened corridor.

“That’s it,” Lisa said. “We’re going in. Follow the shots, but be careful!”

They did that, and ended up at Generator Station two, where they found a dead man, with a German flag patch on his uniform sleeve.

“Damn it,” Crown swore softly. “That was Wigald, the poor sod. He was a good man.”

“And we have even bigger problem,” Dr. Moosekian added darkly, directing their attention to the _naquadah_ generator that was sparking, having been ripped open and broken. “That’s third one in a single day. At this rate, we’ll soon move to mainland and learn how to make fire by hitting two stones together.”

“Damn it,” Lisa echoed. Then she sighed and switched on her radio. “Control, this is Lindstrom. The Wraith just took out another one of our generators.”

“Which one?” Lorne’s voice asked.

“Number two,” Lisa said. “Sir, if this is a tendency…”

“I understand,” Lorne interrupted. “Cadman, what’s the nearest generator station?”

“Number Three,” Laura Cadman’s voice replied. “But Teyla’s group should be closer.”

“Perhaps,” Sergeant Lenoir intervened,” but we’ve lost contact with her group. _And_ with Lieutenant Ford’s.”

“Never mind,” Lorne said. “We’ll go. Should we meet any of them, we’ll redirect them to other areas. Lorne out.”

“And we,” Lisa said to her team grimly, “we’re going on a little Wraith hunt, people.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Tyr’s team had been successful in clearing there area from half a dozen Wraith – blasting the creatures’ heads to pieces with the oversized Gauss rifles Tyr preferred seemed to work wonders against Wraith regenerating abilities – and moved on inwards. On their way to the central tower, they ran into a few Athosians who got separated from their team leader (someone named Teyla) and didn’t have radios on them. But at least they knew Atlantis well enough and were apparently trained warriors… the best ones Tyr had seen so far in the Pegasus galaxy. He filed away a mental note for further consideration before asking them to show him the way, which they did readily enough.

After another shooting match with a group of Wraith guards, in which one of the Athosians – who, if Tyr had understood correctly, were not from Earth but from another local planet – was hit by a Wraith stunner, Tyr’s team finally reached the central tower. Tyr sent Beka and Freya ahead and was just about to do the same with Harper, when two groups, containing at least five or six Wraith each, burst forth from two different side corridors, trapping him, the little _kludge_ and the Emerald Than between them. At such close proximity, weapons were of little use, although Glittering Starlight made a feeble attempt to fire at them – without any noteworthy results. This was _not_ a promising situation, to put it mildly.

“Harper!” Beka screamed, big sister instincts on autopilot, and she would have jumped off the balcony, right into the middle of the nightmarish creatures, had Freya not stopped her with an iron grip.

“You cannot help him,” the Nietzschean woman said. “They would kill _you_ and still kill _him_.”

“Let me go!” Beka hissed, struggling futilely. “Harper’s _my_ crewman, _my_ responsibility – he’s _family_!”

“Getting yourself killed won’t help him,” Freya replied clearly. “He is dead already. I can see the larvae moving under his skin.”

Her deceivingly slender arms didn’t loosen around Beka’s writhing body; her forearm spikes were fully erect. There was nothing human in her in that moment; she morphed into a predator with the single goal of survival on her mind. There was no breaking her grip, but Beka kept struggling against her nonetheless.

“I _hate_ you!” the captain of the _Eureka Maru_ wailed.

Freya didn’t answer, just kept her immobilized, while they watched one of the Wraith approaching Harper. The little engineer had run out of both ammunition and adrenaline, too exhausted – and in too much pain from the reawakened larvae in him – to fight any more. When one of those clawed, white hands smacked down, Beka went limp in Freya’s arms. The Nietzschean woman kept her on her feet with superhuman strength, her sharp features mirroring a strange mix of pity, compassion and vague disgust.

The fighting stopped for a moment at Harper’s inhuman shriek of pain and terror when the Wraith’s hand slammed into him. There was barely any other noise, so that everyone could hear Teyla’s surprised murmur. “Strange. It doesn’t connect with his chest.”

“The larvae!” Tyr realized. “Their life force is stronger, more aggressive than Harper’s – they were what had attracted the Wraith!”

“But… but he is not getting older!” one of the Athosians exclaimed in shock. “How is _that_ possible?”

“The larvae, that thing is drawing life energy from the _larvae_!” Tyr was already making his way to Harper, firing with both überdimensional guns directly into the face of any Wraith stupid enough to get in his way. The ferocity of his attack made the creatures back off in surprise, and the defenders of Atlantis followed on his trail. Freya finally let go of Beka, who now could jump down to the deck; she landed on her feet like a Makra, shooting at everything that had long white hair.

All of a sudden, a long, terrible wail pierced the renewed battle noise. The Wraith feeding on Harper suddenly went into convulsions, foaming from the mouth, shuddered and swayed. Then it fell back on the deck with a loud _thud_ – and was very obviously dead. The other Wraith froze in shock (such a thing couldn’t have happened on a regular basis, given their reaction) and that gave Stackhouse’s team enough time to emerge from one of the side corridors with their improvised flamethrowers (courtesy of Dr. Kavanagh) and give them the rest.

Harper stared down at the ugly, still bleeding wound on his exposed stomach; then his eyes turned upward, and he lost consciousness.

“Pick him up and get him to Doctor B,” Stackhouse barked. “Whatever it was that killed that Wraith, the Doc would want it.”

A big, burly Marine scooped up the small body in his arms and vanished back in the heart of the city. Stackhouse touched his radio.

“Our sector seems cleaned out, sir,” he reported to Major Lorne. “Where do you need us next?”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
It was two hours later that the command staff of Atlantis – at least those who survived and had already returned – gathered in the Control room. From the _Andromeda_ crew, Tyr and Beka had been invited to join the impromptu debriefing, as the ones who were unhurt. Freya had gone to the infirmary to keep an eye on Harper. The Stargate was open, as personnel and equipment were still being transported back from the Alpha Site. An exhausted Dr. Zelenka was sitting at the biometric sensors, searching for missing people. Dr. Moosekian, his unshaven face smeared with blood, tried to help him as best as he could.

“Preliminary count is forty casualties, maybe more,” Zelenka reported. “I’m still trying to line up life-signs readings with actual people.”

“Are there any more Wraith life-signs?” Major Vogel, who’d been wheeled in in a wheelchair, asked.

Zelenka shook his head. “ _Ne_. Seems we’ve got them all. The last one was trapped in one of the deeper parts of the city. He died trying to damage city with one of their grenades.”

“In which attempt three of our men were injured,” Theresa Weir added with a grim face.

McKay shrugged. “On the bright side, there was no flooding,” he said. “And our people will recover. Have we been able to locate Lieutenant Ford yet?”

“I’m sorry, no,” Zelenka replied. “We’ve searched everywhere in the city. It’s possible he may have been beamed up into one of the Wraith darts.”

“No,” Lisa retorted promptly. “I refuse to accept that possibility.”

“Lieutenant, I’m sorry,” Zelenka said gently, “but we must consider it. We’ve searched everywhere inside city…”

“What about outside the city?” Lisa interrupted.

Zelenka stared at her in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“Can’t you expand the sensors?” Lisa clarified. “Maybe he’s in the water somewhere.”

“Even if that was the case, there’s no chance that...” Zelenka began, but Lisa, desperate to find Aiden, interrupted him again.

“Look, Doc I’m not asking you to swim out there. I’m only asking you to press a few damned buttons on that console. Surely that couldn’t be _that_ hard.”

Seeing her despair, Zelenka pushed said buttons without further protest, just to put her mind at ease. Dr. Moosekian felt less gracious, though.

“Even if you’re right, I don’t see how...” he growled; then he trailed off, staring at the screen open-mouthed, as it immediately showed one human life sign in the ocean. “Oh my God. That’s him. It has to be.”

Tyr looked at Beka. “Could we use the grapplers of the _Maru_ to pull him out of the water?”

Beka shook her head. “Nah, he’s too small for that. Those grapplers were designed to move cargo, not to reclaim wounded.”

“There’s no need,” Lisa said. “I’ll go out with a jumper – but I’ll need someone to help me with the actual pulling.”

“I’ll do,” Toussaint, who’d already recovered from the stunner blast and was currently the only combat-ready member of Aiden’s team, offered. “We’ll need a medical team in the jumper bay upon our return, though.”

“Doctor Beckett is still operating on Mr. Harper,” Theresa said, “and Doctor Biro is assisting him. But I’ll send Doctor Nguyen; he’s got a great deal of field experience.”

“I will go with you,” Tyr said to Lisa. “Pulling an unconscious man out of the ocean can be a complicated task.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Lisa had no objections, and the three of them boarded Jumper Two. Tyr was impressed by the little vessel and the ingenuity of the launching process, even though Lisa didn’t tell him that Atlantis was also a starship. She felt that it wasn’t her right to give away such crucial information. Besides, she was too worried about Aiden to care for anything – or anyone – else at the moment.

When they reached the coordinates given by Dr. Zelenka, she landed the jumper on the water – the floating mode had recently been discovered by accident – and they began to search for life-signs.

“He’s here,” Toussaint, proud owner of an artificial ATA gene, said after a few moments, “but something is not right. There’s something else, aside from him.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Lisa replied. “We’ll pull him out with whatever else there might be and hope for the best. He’s been floating out there for quite a while – he might be seriously hypothermic. Do you have the rope?”

Toussaint nodded and brought forth the thick coil, fastening one end near the opened rear hatch.

“I wish we had a chopper here,” he commented. “It would make pulling him in much easier.”

“Just fasten the rope around him,” Tyr growled, “and I will pull in both of you.”

Toussaint took a glance at the Nietzschean’s bulging biceps and nodded, apparently reassured. He then stripped down to his briefs – there was no reason to make his uniform wet – put on the goggles and sprang into the water. Being an experienced scuba diver, it wasn’t a problem for him to dive without an oxygen tank, even though he knew his lungs would protest afterwards.

It took him no time to localize his commanding officer. Aiden Ford was floating face down in the icy water… together with the Wraith that had attacked him. The creature seemed dead, but its hand was still plunged into Aiden’s chest. Toussaint couldn’t tell whether Aiden was still alive – under the current circumstances he should have been dead – but he didn’t waste any more time with guessing. His task was to rescue his CO – the doctors will see whether they could do something for the lieutenant or not.

After fastening the rope around Aiden’s chest, he hurriedly resurfaced. His lungs were burning, but he didn’t care. He swam back to the jumper, held onto the open hatch with one hand and tore the goggles from his face with the other one.

“You can pull them in now,” he told the Nietzschean, still gaping for air. Shit, but he’d gotten woefully unused to this sort of exercise. A fact that he perhaps ought to change in the near future.

Tyr raised an eyebrow. “ _Them_?” he echoed.

“He has a Wraith attached to his chest.” Toussaint clambered aboard and selected the biggest gun available. “I think it’s dead, but… just in case…”

The Nietzschean nodded his approval and pulled in the rope with the double burden seemingly without effort. When they hauled the two motionless bodies aboard, they could see that the back of the Wraith’s head was missing, as well as a considerable part of his back.

“It looks dead enough to me,” Tyr commented laconically. “Should we get it off him?”

Toussaint shook his head. “We better leave it to the Doc, or else we might cause more harm than good.” He knocked on the door separating the cockpit from the rear department. “Lieutenant, we’ve got him… but it looks really bad.”

To her credit, Lisa didn’t waste any time to ask questions. Closing the rear hatch, she started the engines to return to Atlantis as fast as possible.


	18. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some elements might seem familiar from the three-parter “The Siege”. However, let me assure you that they are, in fact, very different from the original. The description of the Athanor is from the Magogology website, some of it was loosely quoted after Jane Liskold.
> 
> Beta read by erinnyes, thanks. Unlike in the FF.Net version, I kept here some of the original (faulty) wording because it still sounds more true to my 'alien' ears.

**CHAPTER 17 – AFTERMATH**

It had taken Carson Beckett four and a half hours to finish operating on the battered little engineer of the _Andromeda_. It wasn’t just the dead Magog offspring that needed to be removed; in the last hours of their existence the little monsters had caused serious damage to Harper’s inner organs, and the internal bleeding was bloody hard to stop. The young man had lost more blood than Carson had ever thought anyone could afford without actually dying on the spot. Fortunately, he had the same rare blood type as Miko Kusanagi, who readily volunteered to donate as much as she could without seriously endangering her own health. With that – and a large dose of what the _Andromeda_ ’s first officer, a tough blonde woman named Beka Valentine, called healing nanobots injected into his bloodstream – there was reasonable hope that he would eventually recover from his ordeal. At least he was rid of the parasitic aliens inside him, which – according to Captain Valentine – was more than he could have hoped for.

Having done that, Carson finally could go over to check on Aiden Ford. What he found left him completely perplexed.

“I cannae explain it,” he admitted to Lorne and Theresa, standing at Aiden’s bedside who seemed… well, _intact_ , save for the ugly feeding wound on his chest and the fact that he was still unconscious. “He should be dead.”

Lorne shrugged. “He’s a Marine, Doc. He’s tough.”

Carson shook his head. “Not my point, Major. He was lying face down in the freezing water for an hour. No-one is _that_ tough.”

“What _is_ your point, then?” Theresa asked.

“We still have but a vague idea how the Wraith feeding process works,” Carson replied thoughtfully. “But according to the research of the Hoffan scientists I worked with, the victim is injected with a special enzyme. It strengthens the human body temporarily and ensures that the heart continues to beat.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Lorne said. “Why would they wanna make you stronger?”

“Actually, it makes excellent sense,” Carson answered. “The feeding process is so traumatic that, without the special enzyme, we’d shut down far sooner than they like.”

“No kidding,” Major Vogel, who’d been brought back to the infirmary for further observation, growled.

“You mean they do it so the victim wouldn't die immediately?” Lorne tried to clarify things.

“Apparently,” Theresa said. “They make you stronger so they can take more time to kill you.”

Carson nodded. “Lovely, isn’t it?” he asked sarcastically. “What Aiden went through wasnae the usual feeding process, though. In most cases the enzyme is released slowly into the bloodstream throughout the whole ordeal. In this particular case, however, I can only ascertain that the Wraith died quite suddenly, and Aiden’s system became flooded with it.”

“Is that the reason why he was able to survive in the water for so long?” Theresa asked.

Carson shrugged. “I cannae see any other reason, for my part. The problem is, however, that now the enzyme is breaking down in his system. Eventually there’ll be none left.”

“And that’s not good?” Lisa, sitting at Aiden’s bedside, guessed.

Carson shook his head. “No. In fact, I’m quite certain it’s gonna kill him. It’s possible his body’s become dependent on the enzyme to function.”

“There has to be a treatment,” Lisa said forcefully. “We haven’t gone through all this – _he_ hasn’t gone through all this – just to die from some weird addiction.”

“We can try weanin' him off,” Carson said, a little uncertainly, because this was nothing he’d ever done before and there were just too many unknown factors to make a predicament whether it would work or not. “Sneak his body chemistry back to normal incrementally.”

Major Vogel looked up to him with haunted eyes. “You do realize, Doctor, what _that_ means, don’t you? That in order to do so we’ll have to get more of this enzyme?”

Carson sighed. “Aye, son, I do know that. We havetae harvest it from the Wraith bodies in the morgue. I know it’s a wee bit creepy, but...”

Theresa nodded, her face grim. “Do whatever you have to do, Carson… I’ll authorize it. Is there anything else we could help you with?”

“Well,” Carson said a little reluctantly, “Captain Valentine tells me they’ve brought a couple o’ Hoffan healers with them. I was wonderin' if a wee consultation with them would be in order. I know we said we wouldnae cooperate with ‘em anymore, but they’ve been studyin' Wraith physiology a lot longer than we have.”

Theresa was suddenly reminded of a private conversation with Kirkitadze a few days earlier. Back then, she’d been the one to second-guess their decision to break up every contact with the Hoffans. Now it seemed that her hand would be forced in that particular issue.

“Do it,” she said with a sigh. “By all means, let’s send up a jumper to bring them.”

“That won’t be necessary, Doctor Weir; Lieutenant Lindstrom has already made the trip,” an achingly familiar voice said, and to the utter shock of almost everyone, a slightly battered Peter Grodin came through the infirmary’s door.

Medical and military personnel were staring at the miraculously resurrected scientist with their mouths literally hanging open. After all their losses in the last two days, seeing Grodin alive and hale – well, more or less – bordered a true miracle. Theresa gazed at him for a moment… then walked over to him and threw her arms around him, hugging him so tightly she must have bruised his ribs. Peter looked a little startled at first, but then hugged her back, albeit a little awkwardly.

“Welcome home, Peter,” Theresa murmured, finally letting go of him. “It’s so good to see you again. I truly thought we’ve lost you… that _I’ve_ lost you,” she added so quietly that nobody else could hear.

“Well, for a moment or two I also thought that I was lost,” Peter replied in mild embarrassment. “It’s good to be home.”

“Not that I’d object to your survival, Doc,” Major Vogel, sitting in his wheelchair at the bedside of one of his injured men, said, “but how the hell did you manage to escape from that satellite?”

“By sheer dumb luck, I guess,” Peter replied with a shrug. “Turned out, the satellite had a lifepod. As it was about to explode, I got dropped into it and ejected in the last millisecond or so. The fireworks were… spectacular.”

“How long did you float in space before the _Andromeda_ found you?” Lorne asked.

“I have no idea,” Peter admitted. “I hit my head when the shockwave caught up with me and have no memories whatsoever about the whole trip. Perhaps it’s better so.”

“Perhaps,” Carson agreed. “Now, let me check ya out before I declare you fit for duty. Not that I wouldnae trust my Hoffan colleagues,” he added with a stiff little bow towards the two women who were entering the infirmary in that very moment, “but I happen to know _yer_ system a bit better.”

“By all means, be my guest!” Peter laughed. Then, glancing at Theresa, he added quietly. “I’ll debrief you and the leading staff about everything in detail. I promise.”

Theresa nodded. “I’m looking forward to it. Just tell me one more thing… what about Miller?”

The delight about being home faded from Peter’s face quickly. He shook his head in regret. “I have no idea. We never heard from him again.”

Theresa sighed. “Well, that was to be expected… I guess I was just hoping for another miracle, but one shouldn’t be too greedy. All right, I’ll leave you all to Carson’s tender mercies. Mr. Kirkitadze and I have funeral preparations to make.”

“Can I help you in any way?” Peter asked. “I mean, when the Doc is done with me,” he clarified hurriedly, seeing Carson’s sour face.

“That’s very generous of you, but – no, thanks,” Theresa answered. “Those are the burdens of command, I’m told. I’ll abduct Major Vogel for a while, though,” she added, grabbing the wheelchair’s handles and pushing it towards the door. “He’s better suited to deal with proper military protocol. In the meantime, Major Lorne will have temporary responsibility for all other military matters.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lorne gave Aiden’s impassive face a last, worried look, then he marched out of the infirmary.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
In the next morning the leading staff met in the conference room to assess the total of their losses. All things considered, the number of the casualties was surprisingly low – not that every single one wouldn’t be sorely missed in a community as small as Atlantis. Since the Wraith’s main agenda had been to conquer the city, they hadn’t bothered to stop and feed, save for a few occasions.

Two of these attempts had ended deadly for the Wraith in question; it seemed that Magog life energy was gift to them, even though they _had_ been able to drain it – which resulted in Rev Bem being a _very_ old and frail Magog now. The other victim was Dylan Hunt himself, who had insisted on leaving his ship and fighting in person. The Wraith who’d attacked him had drained at least sixty years’ worth of life energy from him. Now he was lying in sickbay, as his body needed to recover from the shock of rapid aging.

From the Atlantis people, Sergeant Bates was in the worst shape, lying in a medical coma in the infirmary. Dr. Beckett was hoping that the engineers would find the time to make one of the Ancient stasis chambers work, and soon, so that Bates would be able to recover – but even in that case, it would take a long time.

“What about Mr. Harper?” Dr. Weir asked.

“We’ve removed the dried-out larvae husks from his body,” Dr. Beckett replied tiredly. “It was a delicate operation; the bloody things were practically wrapped around every single organ of his. He’s not out of the woods yet, but with proper care and nourishment, he shouldnae have all too big problems recoverin’.”

“Does it mean that those… things that were about to kill him in an extremely painful and messy way, actually saved his life?” Beka asked in astonishment. Dr. Beckett nodded.

“Aye, lass. The wee beasties took all the beatin’ – _and_ killed the Wraith in the process. Somethin’ in Magog physiology didnae become him, it seems.”

“Too bad it won’t help you much,” Beka said. “Even if Rev Bem hadn’t become too old to procreate, I'd strongly advise against introducing this galaxy to the Magog; unless you’ve got enemies you hate enough to have them eaten alive from the inside out.”

“Not to mention the fact that Magog offspring keeps the strengths of their hosts in their genetic make-up,” Tyr added darkly. “You would only breed even stronger monsters that way.” 

Which, for him, was another proof of how useless Magog really were.

Speaking of which… “What are the Magog’s chances to survive?” he asked.

Dr. Beckett shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t have a clue. Magog physiology is something I didnae see before, so I’m fairly confused. Radek has managed to establish a permanent link to the _Andromeda_ ’s medical database, and we’re looking for possible clues, but… I cannae tell you how long he has to live. How long did they live as a rule?”

“No-one really knows what the natural life expectation of a Magog would be,” Tyr replied. “Normally, we just try to kill them before they come too close and get a chance to lay their eggs inside us.”

The humans in the conference room shuddered as one. The head scientist of Atlantis, a verbose _kludge_ the others called McKay, was positively green. Apparently, they never expected to meet someone worse than the Wraith and had now been taught to think again.

“Is that what happened to Mr. Harper?” Theresa Weir asked.

Tyr gave her a speculative look. Certainly, she was pretty enough for a _kludge_ , and he could feel a rare inner strength within her. She was also a blonde – he preferred blondes – but almost too old to breed. Besides, Tyr _had_ noticed the subtle signs of interest between her and Peter Grodin, the scientist the _Andromeda_ had rescued from the remains of that satellite. Of course, it wouldn’t be too hard for him to dispose of the _kludge_ … theoretically. But he had a much more promising candidate in the person of Liave Kassai right now; and it wouldn’t bode well for a possible alliance if he started eliminating the command staff of Atlantis.

So he dismissed the idea, after having toyed with it briefly, and concentrated on the more important matters of the moment.

“Harper and I got infected at the same time,” he answered Theresa’s question. “Our life sciences officer treated me with hard radiation and deadly poison. My enhanced DNA could bear the treatment; Harper, however, would have died within seconds.”

“Aye, I have noticed he practically has no immune system,” Carson said thoughtfully. “That’s why I’m afraid of sepsis and other infections.”

“Is he HIV-positive?” Kirkitadze asked in concern. _That_ would have complicated matters, and he really didn’t feel like dealing with any further complications right now.

Carson shook his head. “Nay, it seems to be a natural weakness… though I hadnae seen the like of it before.”

“It comes from having been born and raised on Earth,” Beka said grimly. “Where we come from, Earth isn’t a good place to live. It has suffered greatly since the fall of the Commonwealth, enduring orbital bombardment, Magog raids, and occupation by various Nietzschean Prides; the ones currently holding the planet are the Drago-Kazov.”

“Degenerates,” Tyr growled under his breath. The Earth humans gave him curious looks but he didn’t offer any further explanation.

“The majority of the population live in hopeless poverty,” Beka continued, recalling Harper’s stories about his youth. “Many people are sustained only by humanitarian relief missions allowed to operate by the Nietzschean occupiers. Not that those would be so numerous… mostly Wayist groups, and whatever they manage to bring there is never enough. The planet is virtually unable to bring out any foodstuffs, because of the pollution, and even clean water has become a rare and precious thing… more so as it could get contaminated without any conceivable reason, from one day to another. To the current day, Harper is reluctant to drink water – he prefers that ridiculous Sparky Cola of his, because he hasn’t had any bad experiences with it, unlike with water.”

“What about the industry?” McKay asked with a frown.

“Gone,” replied Beka grimly. “Only small factories providing what the Nietzscheans need are working. Humans try to scavenge whatever industrial rubbish they can find among the ruins and make things out of them to ease their lives, but even those sources are limited. That’s the reason why Harper can fix just about everything – he’s used to it. In a proper society, he could have become an excellent scientist or research engineer, or so Rommie tells me. As things are, we thank him our lives, several times over.”

“I wonder how the people of Earth came to accept the situation,” the blond major in the wheelchair said. “It’s against human nature to endure forced servitude for this long.”

“Oh, they tried,” Beka said with a bitter laugh. “There was a revolt, centered in East Africa and the Middle East, back in 10087. They never stood a chance, poor things. Their attempt was brutally suppressed by the Nietzscheans, who killed over 50 million humans in the process.” 

The blond officer raised an eyebrow. “And you’re still working with one of those…” he didn’t finish the sentence, but the unspoken word _animals_ floated clearly enough in the air.

Tyr gritted his teeth. “I do not like to be mistaken for one of the Drago-Kazov Neanderthals,” he said. “They have massacred _my_ Pride, too.”

“Tyr,” Beka said calmly. “Cool down! These people never met a Niet before and can’t be expected to make a difference between individual Prides. Besides, you aren’t that different. Your methods might be, but in the heart of your genetically enhanced hearts, you all want the same: power, dominance, and immortality through an uncanny number of children.”

“We managed to co-exist with humans and hundreds of other races peacefully enough,” Try retorted, “before the Commonwealth came to the incredibly foolish decision to sign a treaty with the Magog.”

“And that would have been wrong - why exactly?” Theresa asked. “Diplomatic relations can be very useful.”

“Unless your negotiating partner considers you dinner,” Tyr replied. “At least you showed enough common sense not to try the same with the Wraith.”

“It wasn’t really a choice,” Theresa sighed. “Now, what I want to know, Rodney: can we be really sure that the _Andromeda_ has come from a different universe?”

McKay nodded. “From what we have learned so far, we were able to determine that our histories – our _realities_ – are widely divergent. So much, in fact, that it almost doesn't matter in the quantum sense.”

Beka gave him an annoyed look. “Can I have that in English, please? It’s bad enough that none of you understand Common, but this scientific mumbo-jumbo…”

McKay glared back at her, obviously enraged. “I’m not responsible for the miserably low level of your personal education or your inability to grasp the simplest scientific theories, Captain Valentine. Why don’t you just shut up and let smarter people discuss the…”

“It means that none of you appear to be in danger of possibly being his own great-great-great… however many hundreds of times grandfather,” the wild-haired little scientist with the strange accent interrupted, giving his boss a withering look from behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “Or grandmother. Or being ripped apart by entropic cascade failure – which would be very unpleasant way to go.”

“Entropic… what?” Beka asked, a little dumbfounded.

The friendly little scientist smiled apologetically at her. “More scientific mumbo-jumbo, I’m afraid,” he said. “Entropic cascade failure is unusual side effect which emerges after several days of identical living matter co-existing within same dimensional universe.”

“Ummm… right,” Beka said doubtfully. Actually, the explanation had only made everything a lot more confusing.

“Is direct result of person who is already in the incoming reality, arriving through quantum mirror… just like you’ve done,” the scientist tried to elaborate. “Is marked by violent convulsions in which foreign matter begins to take on of phase shifting. Theoretically, the original individual would eventually develop side effect, too.”

“So that both would eventually die?” Tyr asked.

The scruffy little _kludge_ nodded. “Yes, yes, yes. However, entropic cascade failure does not occur if a person's counterpart in another realm is deceased.”

“Which means, since your universe does not have any Nietzscheans, my wife and I are in no danger to develop the syndromes,” Tyr said.

“Precisely,” the scientist answered. “We believe this is true for human members of your crew, too, as our universes are so widely apart. Fact is, the closer alternate realities are to each other, the greater danger for entropic cascade failure is. We think you all can live out your lives among us without ever having to face problem.”

“You _think_?” Beka repeated, frowning.

The little man shrugged. “There are no absolute guarantees, Captain Valentine. But our previous experiences with alternate realities indicate that you’re in no immediate danger… and chances are good that problems won’t appear later.”

“I’ll take it for the time being,” Beka said. “Thank you, Doctor…”

“Zelenka,” the scientist gave her a surprisingly charming smile. “You can call me Radek, though. Is easier to pronounce for people with strange mother tongues. Like English,” he added with a definitely devious grin.

”Says he with the unspeakable mother tongue,” someone muttered darkly, and everyone laughed, the atmosphere becoming a lot more relaxed all of a sudden.

“This quantum mirror you spoke about,” Freya spoke up for the first time. “Can you explain us what it is?”

“It’s a dimensional portal of unknown origin, presumably constructed of _naquadah_ , capable of transporting an individual into an alternate reality at one touch,” McKay snatched back the ruling of the discussion. “The mirror is controlled with a separate control remote, which allows the user to ‘dial’ to different dimensions. One of Earth’s off-world teams has found such a mirror on P3R-233, a planet whose technically very advanced inhabitants had been wiped out by the Goa’uld – and no, we’re _not_ going to discuss the Goa’uld now, that’s a topic for several days, and we just don’t have the time right now. Anyway, General Hammond ordered the one such device known to us to be destroyed, in order to prevent parallel versions of us entering our reality at will.”

“A wise decision,” Tyr commented. “All this still does not explain how we have ended up in your reality, though. None of us have touched any device the like of which you have described… unless Trance keeps one hidden somewhere,” he added with a doubtful expression.

McKay shrugged. “This is a big and complex multiverse; many things are possible. Perhaps you’ve got here in a completely different way. We don’t know, and frankly, I doubt that we would ever figure out. Unless the is a hint somewhere in the Ancient database. We’ve barely scratched the surface of it since we arrived.”

“In that case, we must count on staying here for quite a while,” Freya said, looking at Tyr. “We will have to make… arrangements for the near future, at the very least.”

“You’re welcome to stay… all of you,” Theresa Weir said. “We’ve lost many people, and we’ve been understaffed to begin with. I’m sure you can find a place where your knowledge and abilities would be of best use.”

“Thank you,” Beka replied. “We won’t be able to leave anyway, not for a while; not before at least Harper is back on his feet. As for Dylan and Rev Bem,” she shrugged hopelessly. “At least they’ll be able to die in peace.”

“Which is more than most people can expect,” Theresa Weir sighed. “All right, let’s adjourn this meeting for the time being. Mr. Kirkitadze and I will finish the funeral arrangements and speak to Halling about possibilities to bury our people on the mainland, unless any of them required cremation in their will. Rodney, have Doctor Zelenka schedule a permanent watch on the long-range sensors; should those Wraith cruisers that escaped bring back friends, we’ll need to be warned. Tomorrow, Petty Officer Tiner and I will start rescheduling the duty shifts and see how we can return to normal as soon as possible. Any questions?”

There were none, so she adjourned the meeting and everyone returned to his or her work.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Beka, not having any immediate tasks to do, followed Dr. Beckett to the infirmary.

“I want to see my people!” she demanded.

“But only through the glass,” the doctor warned. “They’re all in a bloody shock; they’ll need some rest to recover properly.”

He led her to the infirmary, and less than half a minute later, Beka was staring through the little glass window on the door to the isolation room. It wasn’t an encouraging sight. Harper looked like several hells wrapped together. The doctors had taped a canula down on his face, and hooked him up to what looked like every machine in Atlantis. One of his arms was bound to the bed, most likely so that he wouldn’t dislocate the needle and tube stuck into it by accident – not that he would move a lot. In fact, for a moment, she became afraid whether he was still alive at all, until she noticed the slight twitching of his fingers and released a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding.

“I have him on a saline drip against dehydration, right here," Doctor Beckett explained, indicating Harpers arm. "Those things stuck to his chest are cardiac monitors, and the small device pinchin' his finger is an oxygen monitor. We need to keep him under constant surveillance. He’s lost a great deal of blood, and I had a hard time undoin' all the damage those bloody things had done to his organs.”

“At least he's safe now,” Beka said quietly, watching the gaunt face of his engineer and long-time friend. Harper always seemed so young and vulnerable when he slept. “He is safe now, isn’t he?”

“Save unexpected complications, we can be fairly optimistic,” Dr. Beckett said.

At that, Beka grabbed the lapels of his lab coat and kissed him, hard and deep. It was a kiss that stole his breath and made him weak in the knees.

“Thank you,” she said. “I owe you one.”

It took the good doctor several long moments to catch his breath again and to regain his ability to speak. “You don’t havtae thank me, lass,” he stuttered. “I’m a doctor… that’s what I do.”

“And Harper is the closest thing I have left to a family,” Beka replied.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
He knew that he was dying – he could practically feel the life seeping out of his prematurely aged body, his remaining strength nothing but a faint echo of the ferocious creature he once had been. He didn’t mind it terribly; although, had he been given the choice, he’d have preferred to stay alive a little longer. To atone for what his people had been doing to the rest of the Universe. To make amends for what _he_ had done; to the woman who unwillingly gave birth to him at the cost of her own life; to other people before he’d converted to the Way – to his own people on the Worldship. But since he was not given a choice in the matter, he accepted the will of the Divine. He accepted death.

What he had _not_ expected was that death would be so easy… so peaceful. Lying in a clean, quiet little chamber, concerned human doctors trying to ease his discomfort, sometimes a teary-eyed Beka at his bedside - who, of course, would vehemently deny the existence of those very tears. But he saw what he saw, and he was almost ashamed. He certainly hadn’t deserved those tears.

The life of a Magog was based on – and marked by – violence. To be born in the first place, some other unfortunate creature had to suffer a painful and violent death. And few Magog had ever died a natural death. If he thought about it, he couldn’t remember ever having heard of one. Such an end would have contradicted their very nature.

People often asked how a species as savage and unsophisticated as the Magog could have ever developed space-faring technology… yes, _any_ technology at all. The answer to that question, just like the very origins of the Magog, was still shrouded in mystery, even for him.

Some guessed that the Magog weren’t even a natural species; that they had been created as a terribly effective biological weapon, programmed to breed and destroy everything they met. Why else would they have no culture, no art, no music aside from their war drums, no literature… They seemed like a primitive horde of wild, carnivorous animals.

And yet they could fly starships and use technology – and a very small handful of them could even turn away from their homicidal tendencies and follow the Way. It only saddened him that there were so very few of the latter sort. Was he perhaps a random mutation, a genetic failure, just like the Anointed One? If yes, there was little hope for their people to change.

During his novitiate, he studied in the monastery the ancient tests about the _Athanor_ : immortal beings of great powers who’d long given up the question of whether or not their immortality was worth the price. Whose power came from within. Whose blood was bound in arcane fashion to the primal sources of Shadow Power. Back then, he‘d asked himself again and again, whether the entirety of his people could be considered as the Athanor; as the Primal Paramounts of Shadow. Natural species or not, they hatched the definition well enough. They were mortal beings who had passed into a crucible of power and somehow transformed. They did seem to succeed and prosper with unique qualities.

Since he’d learned about the existence of the Abyss, he knew the answer to that particular question. The Magog were not the Athanor – the Abyss was. The Magog were only in association with its incredible power and resilience. They were its creatures, its puppets, its outstretched arm, like the human avatars of certain demons in the mythologies of the many different races he’d met on his long journeys.

He rejoiced in the fact that he’d managed to break his own yoke of dependence, and that he seemed to have come into a reality where the Abyss had apparently never existed. This reality had its own evils, for sure, its demons and dark powers, most of them still hidden from the eyes of these simple, idealistic humans who had taken him in with open arms, him and his friends. But those couldn’t touch him. He was about to be removed from this plane of existence, and he knew that his transition would be an easy one and was grateful.

He was worried about the other one, though, rendered powerless in this reality, cut off from the inner source of its remarkable abilities. As a rule, when an Athanor died, it was in great pain and suffering, with the body struggling in vain to maintain a haven for the life that was leaving it. Despite the phenomenal healing powers that were their birthright, Athanor _could_ die. They could even commit suicide. And if they did so before the complete loss of their powers, their death throes could tear entire planets apart.

He wished he could warn the others. They had no idea whom they had in their midst – although Harper might have caught a glimpse of the truth while carrying the All Systems University database in his mind. But only a glimpse; and Harper, too, was in a very bad shape at the moment; and so was Dylan. He couldn’t count on them.

Whom should he warn? Whom could he trust to do the necessary thing when the time came, even if it would be cruel?

The lint of a long, golden braid caught his eye. Silver bracers glimmered in the artificial light of the infirmary, elegantly arched, ivory-white bone blades flattened against them like the wings of a resting bird. Freya, returning from Harper’s bedside.

He sighed in relief, having found his answer. The Nietzscheans would not hesitate to do their worst in order to ensure their own survival and safety.

“Freya,” he said with great effort; he felt so terribly weak, but this message _had_ to be delivered at all costs. “You must… warn Tyr. When _she_ nears her end… she must be removed… to empty space… cut off from… solar energy. She’s not… what she seems… dangerous… disaster… promise me!”

There was so much intensity in his faltering voice that the Nietzschean woman didn’t ask any questions, just nodded.

“I shall tell Tyr,” she said simply. She didn’t seem to have any doubts whom he’d been speaking about; apparently, the Nietzscheans had their own suspicions. Good. They would act when the time came, to save themselves; and doing so, they would save the others.

He closed his eyes tiredly. He’d done what he could. He regretted that he hadn’t been able to save Dylan from that Wraith – not entirely – but he had at least tried. And he’d delivered the most important message. Nietzschean self-preservation instinct would do the rest.

His work was accomplished. He could rest now.

Half an hour later, when the duty doctor of night shift came to check on the most seriously wounded patients, Reverend Behemial Far-Traveller had already taken off on his last journey.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
In a separate room of the infirmary Beka Valentine was standing by Dylan Hunt’s bedside, looking down at the broken old man who, barely a day earlier, had been the invincible captain of the _Andromeda Ascendant_. Dylan now truly looked every single day of his three-hundred-and-some years. His face was spotted, his hair all but gone, the remaining few white strains smoothed over his bald skull, his cheeks hollow and deeply lined. There was no light in his glassy eyes and barely any recognition. His right hand, lying on his chest, was shaking, and he seemed very, very weak.

“Report,” he whispered.

“Well, it seems that we’ve won… for the time being anyway,” Beka told him. “The hive ships are gone, and we’ve hunted down every last Wraith within the city. The rest of the bugs have gone through the Stargate to that planet of theirs – the Lanteans call it Gemini Four – and are, most likely, busy spawning.”

“Rev Bem?” Dylan asked.

Beka shook her head in sorrow. “He didn’t make it. Lived a few hours after the attack, but… the Wraith had almost completely drained him before dying from the ‘Magog essence’ – whatever _that_ might be.”

“What about… Harper?” Dylan whispered.

Beka shrugged, her bright eyes clouding in concern. “It’s still too early to tell. It’s a miracle that he survived the dying process of the larvae inside him in the first place. The Lantean doctor has patched him together as well as humanly possible, but we still can’t be sure that he’ll make it, in the end.”

Dylan closed his eyes for a moment, signalling his understanding. He lay there for a while, gathering his strength.

“Beka,” he then said. “I’ve left… orders with Rommie, in case… in case anything should happen to me. You’re… supposed to take over the _Andromeda_ … if I ever became unfit… for command. Well… I _am_ unfit for command, so… she’s all yours.”

“Dylan, no!” Beka protested. “She’s a warship. I’m a freighter captain, and frankly, happy with that. I have no ambitions whatsoever to take over your quest.”

“You’re a… good captain,” Dylan said. “She… _needs_ a good captain. I don’t want Tyr to… get his hands on her. A Nietzschean… with so much power…” he trailed off, exhausted, but Beka understood him well enough. The _Andromeda_ was currently the strongest weapon in the Pegasus galaxy. Dylan didn’t want that weapon to fall into Nietzschean hands. She happened to agree… for the time being anyway. She vindicated herself the right to change her mind later.

“Very well,” she said. “I accept. Do you want to return to _Andromeda_?”

“Eventually,” Dylan whispered. “They say… I can’t be moved yet. Need to… get over the shock first. But yeah… I do want to go home.”

“I’ll bring you back myself,” Beka promised.

Thanks,” Dylan closed his eyes again. “Need to rest now…”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Liave Kassai found the infirmary of Atlantis fascinating. She had, of course, already seen medical personnel from Earth at work and knew how efficient they could be. But she’d never seen them at work during a _crisis_ – now it seemed to her that they were twice as efficient working under pressure. And even though their technology couldn’t be compared with that of _Andromeda_ ’s medical deck – mostly because they’d just begun to understand a small percentage of what Ancient medical knowledge and technology could offer – they more than made up for that in the areas of dedication and determination. They might not be willing to make such drastic steps as the Hoffans (not yet anyway), but she felt a strange kinship with them, the like of which she’d never felt before.

She and Ms Capec had been assigned to the research work started to find a cure for the handsome young soldier called Aiden Ford, who, surprisingly enough, had survived being flooded with Wraith enzyme. It was fortunate for the Earth people that she’d used to be a close co-worker of Perna. She was probably the person who knew the most about Wraith physiology in the entire Pegasus galaxy… save the Wraith themselves, that is. With the help of one of the resident chemists she had already broken down he enzyme to its basic chemical components and was now working on the ‘gargantuan task”, as her co-worker would put it, to reproduce the connection between them, thus creating a synthetic version of the enzyme.

“Would it not be easier to simply harvest the enzyme in its natural form?” Freya asked during one of the short coffee breaks. Or tea breaks, in their case, as Freya had picked up the custom of drinking Athosian tea, after having learned of its medically useful properties.

“The corpses in the morgue would help us out only so far,” the lanky, long-haired Earth chemists with the glasses, called Kavanagh, replied. “When their enzyme sack has been emptied, we’d have to go Wraith-hunting… risking the lives of entire teams, just to feed Ford’s addiction. That would be highly irresponsible, not to mention morally wrong.”

“I don’t see the Wraith being particularly worried about the moral aspects of hunting _us_ ,” their host, a lovely blonde Athosian woman named Anika said. She was a healer by trade and had been married to Dr. Beckett for almost ten months by now. Her rounded belly revealed that they hadn’t been idle in all those months, despite one crisis following another in Atlantis.

“Exactly,” Dr. Kavanagh replied. “We wouldn’t be any better than them.” He was a man of strong opinions and therefore not very popular among his fellow Earthlings. “Besides,” he added grimly, “I don’t believe in sacrificing the many just to save the few… or a single person. That might sound noble and romantic, according to the codex of the US Marines, but it’s a suicidal attitude in a community as small as ours.”

Anika nodded in agreement. “We see it similarly. It is the clan that needs to survive, in order for the people to survive. Individuals, cherished as they might be, are expendable.”

“I don’t think Lieutenant Lindstrom would agree,” Kavanagh said. “Or your own husband, for that matter.”

“Carson is very fond of Lieutenant Ford,” Anika agreed. “And Lisa is in love with him… has been for a long time. Should we not be able to heal Lieutenant Ford, it will be very hard on her. She will need support, or she will shatter to pieces.”

“And how do you intend to provide that support?” Kavanagh asked cynically. “By sending her to Heightmeyer to ‘share her feelings’ over the issue? Somehow I don’t think she’s the type for that.”

“Neither do I,” Anika replied. “Carson and I have been discussing this in some length and decided to do it in the Athosian way instead: we will offer her to join our family.”

It was unfortunate that Kavanagh was drinking when she stated that. He accidentally inhaled his tea instead of swallowing it and nearly choked on it. Freya slapped his back several times (nearly breaking his ribs in the process), until he finally managed to cough up the liquid from his windpipe and was panting for air, red-faced and teary-eyed.

“Warn a guy next time before you drop the bombshell,” he said, his voice still unnaturally high.

Anika shrugged. “You Earth people can be so narrow-minded sometimes; especially those called Americans. Clan marriages have been the Athosian way as long as we can remember, and they have saved us from total extinction many times. It also gives each individual a solid family background and a wide-spread net of support, even if individual family members get culled. You will have to change your ways, too, if you want to survive in the shadow of the Wraith. Especially as you have twice as many men as women in your own group.”

“There already are examples,” Julie Ow, the duty nurse of the shift, added. “Sergeants Markham and Stackhouse seemed content enough with having the same wife, and now that Jamie is lost, knowing that Anais is expecting his child is great comfort for Stacks. And Doctor Zelenka, too, looks very happy with Marta.”

“Yeah, but there’s only the two of them,” Kavanagh said.

Julie looked at him in surprise. “Whoever has told you _that_? The two belong to Halling’s family, with Ireni and her son Wex, who’s the best friend of Jinto, Halling’s boy. Sure, Marta lives in Atlantis, so that Radek wouldn’t be alone, but they regularly visit the rest of the family on the mainland.”

Kavanagh seemed mildly shocked by that revelation, but he recovered quickly enough. “Which one of them has knocked up Marta then?” he asked.

“The baby is from Doctor Zelenka,” Julie replied. “As Anika tells me, when Athosian spouses decide to have a child, they become exclusive way before the fertilization. That way they can prevent inbreeding and genetic degradation.”

“And by bringing in fresh blood from the outside regularly,” Anika added. “Marrying Earth people enriches our gene pool and strengthens us as a people.”

Freya nodded in approval. Intelligent breeding didn’t require highly advanced genetic manipulation. Not in the basics anyway. In many cases, common sense could work just as well.

“We refresh our gene pool the same way,” she said. “That is why I chose to marry Tyr, even though he was the last of his Pride; his genes were excellent, and I hope that we shall have strong, healthy children,” she glanced at Liave.

“We are making progress,” Liave replied. “The consultation with Doctor Beckett was very helpful for the further modification of the original cure. I am now reasonably certain that complete recovery is only a matter of time.” She rose. “Thank you for the tea, Anika. I’ll return to my lab now. Doctor Beckett wants us to study the mutual effects of Wraith and Magog DNA on each other. That might help clean the latter from Tyr’s system completely.”

Kavanagh, too, set aside his tea cup. “I’ll better go with you. Biochemistry isn’t exactly my area of expertise, but I used to dabble in it a few years ago. Besides, I didn’t have a good challenge since we came here. I’d like to help mapping the molecular structure – it does look fascinating.”

“Certainly, Doctor Kavanagh, we accept any help we can get with gratitude,” Liave said, and the two of them left for the labs.

Anika sighed and rubbed her lower back ruefully. Her pregnancy, while it didn’t hinder her in work, _was_ a strain on her spinal column. She glanced at the used cups with mild distaste. Were she at home, she’d leave them till the morning, but Dr. Biro would throw a fit if they left her office in such a state.

“I must look after Lieutenant Ford,” she said. “I have promised Carson to check on him regularly. But I will come back later and wash the dishes.”

“Nonsense,” Julie Ow replied. “I’ll do it. My shift ended half an hour ago anyway. You go and check on Ford – then go home and put your feet up.”

Anika smiled. “I might do just that. Thank you, Julie.”

“Go!” Julie waved impatiently. “And don’t come back before morning.”

Anika laughed, thanked her again and left. After a moment of hesitation, Freya followed the Athosian woman. She found the changes in the young _kludge_ soldier morbidly fascinating and wanted to see whether there was any further development.

But when they came to Aiden Ford’s bed, they found it empty. The blanket was tossed aside carelessly and the patient gone.

“That is not good,” Anika said in concern. “I need to find Carson.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
After having adjourned the meeting, Theresa Weir relocated to her office with Sevarion Kirkitadze and Petty Officer Jason Tiner, the US Navy’s only addition to the expedition, who also served as her personal aide. They also called for Halling, to discuss funeral arrangement with him. As it turned out, none of the fallen had asked for cremation or to be given any sort of space burial in their will, so it was decided to bury them on the mainland, next to the victims of the nanovirus. Halling agreed with them that it would be a good thing, as it might increase the closeness between Athosians and expedition members – and besides, they did have more than enough room for such things.

That settled, Theresa sent out e-mails to the various department heads and asked them to speak at the funeral of their people… save one. Although there wasn’t anything left of John Sheppard to bury, she had decided to grant him – and Lieutenant Miller – a symbolic grave. And while Peter Grodin insisted to speak about Miller, she felt that giving Sheppard the last honour would be her duty. No matter what she thought of the man personally, he had sacrificed his life to save them, and that was more than anyone could demand from another human being. 

Speaking a few words of appreciation was the least thing she could do.

Having sent the messages, she returned to the Control room, to check on the long-range sensors. Those escaped Wraith cruisers still lay heavily on her heart. They might have won the battle, but they were still a long way to win the war… if ever. 

It surprised her to find Rodney at the control screen.

“Where is Doctor Zelenka?” she asked.

“I’ve sent him to bed,” Rodney answered impatiently. “He was falling asleep on me every five minutes. Stims wearing off, apparently.”

“By him – but not by you?” Theresa asked doubtfully.

“Oh, I’m too riled up to sleep right now,” Rodney waved off her concerns. “Okay, long-range sensors aren’t picking up anything at the moment. Doctor ... Doctor Mouse is relieving me in ten minutes, so no need to worry.”

“You mean Doctor Moosekian?” Kirkitadze, who’d followed Theresa out of her office, asked.

“Whatever,” Rodney made that impatient gesture again – then he froze and stared at something above Theresa’s shoulder. “Hey… what the hell are _you_ doing here?”

Theresa turned around… and looked right into the terrible, ruptured eye of Aiden Ford. “Lieutenant…”

“Hey, Doctor Weir,” Aiden said in a morbidly… _normal_ tone, as if his presence would have been the most natural thing in the world. “Where do you want me?”

Before Theresa could have recovered from her surprise, two people came running from two different directions. One of them was Lisa Lindstrom, protective instinct clearly written into her face, the other one a terribly upset Carson Beckett.

“Here you are!” the doctor cried. “Who let you out of the infirmary anyway? It sure as hell wasn’t _me_!”

Aiden gave him a look that was probably meant to be reassuring but with the manic gleam in his one good eye was anything but.

“I’m fine, Doc, really,” he said in his best charming manner. “It’s cool.” 

Unfortunately, his charms didn’t work on the upset doctor.

“The hell you are!” Carson exploded. “You oughtta be in bed!”

“I feel great!” Aiden exclaimed, with a bit more enthusiasm than necessary, which alone told everyone that something was seriously wrong with him. “Just drop it.”

He turned his back on Carson, but the doctor wasn’t quite that easy to shake off. He walked around Aiden to see eye to eye with him.

“I will not just drop it, Lieutenant,” he declared. “Not an hour ago you were still at death’s door. We’re lucky to have you stabilized at all, though frankly, I still cannae understand how we’ve managed to do it. Now I don’t care how spry you’re feelin' – you need to be under medical supervision. You’re not halfway out of the woods yet.”

“He’s right, Aiden,” Lisa said quietly. “You should listen to him.”

Aiden glared at her angrily – it was an eerie sight, with one dead, completely black eye and one bloodshot and gleaming madly. For a moment, Lisa was scared, but decided _not_ to back off. She returned his glare defiantly, until Aiden turned away, back to Theresa.

“I’m good to go,” he stated forcefully.

Theresa suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. Ford was definitely _not_ ready to go anywhere, save back to the infirmary, but arguing with him seemed pretty pointless.

“I appreciate your enthusiasm, Lieutenant,” she said carefully, “but there isn’t really anything to do for you at the moment. Doctor...”

“I… I’m serious – just let me prove it,” Aiden interrupted her, his voice almost pleading. “Just… give me something to do.”

Theresa felt like a deer caught in the headlights, unsure how to react. Aiden was clearly not lucid, so provoking him wouldn’t be the best idea. On the other hand, letting him run free all across the city was out of the question as well.

Fortunately, Carson came to her aid, taking hold of Ford’s arm. “I don’t think so,” he said sternly. “Come back to the infirmary, Lieutenant.”

To everyone’s shocked surprise, Aiden rounded on him, grabbing him by the throat with one hand and hoisted him into the air, slamming him against the wall.

“Don’t push me around!” he snarled. He sounded just like a Wraith.

For a moment, everyone in the Control room froze in horror. Rodney sat ramrod straight in his chair, blue eyes glassy with shock, slack mouth open. He’d been on dozens of dangerous missions with the sometimes unbearably cheerful Aiden Ford – this creature wasn’t the good-natured young soldier whom he thanked his life several times over. The reaction of the others, while less obvious, was similar.

Lisa was the first to move. She walked over to Carson, matching Aiden’s ferocious glare with her unnaturally calm one.

“Put him down, Aiden,” she said evenly. “He’s only trying to help you.”

Aiden didn’t answer, just continued to glare at Carson, his handsome face distorted into an ugly grimace. Lisa took a deep breath, her eyes hardening. She pulled her sidearm and pressed the muzzle against Aiden’s temple. 

“Aiden,” she said in the same calm manner. “You’re my best friend, and I love you. Please, don’t make me kill you. I couldn’t live with that. But I won’t have any choice if you don’t put Carson down – _now_!”

At first no-one could tell whether she’d reached the still somewhat reasonable part of Aiden’s mind. But then, as if reawakening from some sort of trance, he slowly lowered Carson to the ground and released his grip on his throat. Carson gasped for air, leaning against the wall, fingering his bruised throat with trembling fingers. Coming back to himself. Aiden stared in horror at what he had just done.

“I’m sorry, Doc,” he mumbled. “I don’t know why I ...”

Putting away her gun, a deadly pale Lisa glared at him. “Do you still believe you’re good to go?” she asked. Aiden shook his head mutely.

“I think this… accident decides things,” Carson said, finally able to speak coherently. “He definitely needs to be under medical supervision.”

Theresa nodded. “I agree. Look, Aiden, this just won’t do. We need to find out why are you suddenly acting like… like a Wraith; and what can we do to prevent a… a similar performance.”

Aiden hung his head, still shocked by his actions. “I’ll go back,” he whispered.

Theresa smiled at him, which seemed to comfort him a little. “Good. That’s what you should do.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Aiden replied, his voice a bit more steady.

“I’ll go with him,” Lisa offered and led him away. He went with her like a lamb, but that didn’t fool the others anymore. Everyone who’d witnessed that ugly little scene knew now that Aiden Ford, in his current state, represented a true danger. 

“Sedate him if you have to,” Theresa ordered. “And I’ll arrange someone to watch over him – someone he won’t be able to get away from easily.”

Carson nodded tiredly. “Aye, that would be a good idea.” He followed Lisa and Aiden out.

Theresa looked at Eddie Wong, the Gate technician on duty in the current shift. “Find me Mr. Anasazi, please.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Aboard her ship-self, Rommie was pondering over the most recent events alone. As a warship, she’d greatly enjoyed fighting the Wraith hive ships, and even more so being victorious. But she’d also suffered heavy damage, and in order to make repairs, she’d need to search the Lantean system’s asteroid belt to mine the necessary minerals. Which she couldn’t do yet. Not as long as her captain was down on the planet, having aged horribly within seconds, and her only engineer also near death – although with Harper, she could at least hope that he’d get better, eventually.

Oh, they would return to her as soon as possible. Of that, she was certain. But Dylan wouldn’t be able to command her anymore, not in his condition, even if he’d be able to live a few more years. And it would take Harper a long time before he’d be strong enough to do any real work again. If ever.

She felt vulnerable without her captain and her engineer, and she didn’t like the feeling. She didn’t like the arrangements Dylan had made for just such a case – she liked Beka, but she didn’t find her fit to command her; she had the skills and the courage, but not the mindset needed for someone sitting in the command chair of a warship – and she didn’t like the thought of the Perseids (or even someone from Atlantis) replacing Harper. Dylan was her captain and Harper was her engineer, and any possible replacement just wouldn’t pull the same punch.

She didn’t like being left alone with Trance, either, who’d showed definite sings of mental imbalance lately. Muttering to herself in Hydroponics, butchering her bonsai tree repeatedly – that poor thing was barely more than a dry stick in a flower pot by now – searching the database for information about building a tesseract generator.

Rommie didn’t like that particular turn of events at all. Tesseracting was a highly unstable practice that should be better left alone, until one learned more about the actual science behind it. She had the uncomfortable suspicion that their ending up in the Pegasus galaxy – and in an alternate reality at that – had been Trance’s work. Just like at the time they’d ended up three hundred years in the past, so that they could help beating the Nietzschean armada in the Battle of the Witchhead.

Only that this time Trance’s little experiment seemed to have backfired, big time. And it didn’t seem that the purple alien would be able to correct her mistake. Rommie wasn’t sure she should allow Trance to even try… in her increasing madness, she might make things even worse. A lot worse.

Rommie wished she could consult Rev Bem about the problem. But Rev was dead, killed by the Wraith – another reason for Rommie to feel vindictive towards the vampiric aliens, as Rev had been her friend in a way nobody else had been before – and she was on her own for the time being. So she decided to keep Trance’s actions under constant surveillance (she didn’t have much else to do anyway) and keep at least two of the droids ready to restrain her if she had to.

Other than that, she just sat there in geosynchronous orbit above Atlantis and waited.


	19. Conversions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some elements might seem familiar from the three-parter “The Siege”. However, let me assure you that they are, in fact, very different from the original. 
> 
> Kavanagh’s background has been established in “Choices”, and I use it in all my stories. The reason why he has a different first name than in canon is that this story was written before TPTB deigned to actually give him a first name. I'm not going change it, either.

**CHAPTER 18 – CONVERSIONS**

On the next day, there were funeral ceremonies on the mainland. All Atlantis personnel not on duty attended, and so did all the surviving Athosians. The remaining jumper pilots had to make quite a few runs to ferry everyone over to the burial site. Fortunately, Major Vogel had recovered enough for light ‘taxi driver’ duty, as he called it. 

The ceremonies themselves were moving ones. At first, the Athosians performed their traditional ring ceremony, with the hymns and symbolic gestures it contained. Afterwards, Dr. Kavanagh, whose father was a priest back on Earth, spoke the words of the burial rite according to the Episcopal tradition, as most of the fallen soldiers had belonged to one or other Christian confession. In fact, Yamato was the only one who hadn’t.

At first Kavanagh hadn’t wanted to do so, saying that he wasn’t a priest, not even a believer anymore. But Theresa Weir had pointed out that his personal beliefs didn’t really matter – this was for the soldiers and their comrades, and _they_ needed the comfort of the rites they would have gotten back home, and so the scientist finally gave in. In hindsight everyone agreed that he’d done an excellent job of it. He might have distanced himself from religion, but as the son of a priest, the words came from his mouth very convincingly, and everyone was deeply touched when he spoke the final prayer, regardless whether he himself believed in it or not.

“Almighty God, Father of mercies and giver of all comfort: Deal graciously, we pray thee, with all those who mourn, that casting every care on thee, they may know the consolation of thy love; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.”

To perform the proper burial rites for Private Yamato was a more complicated task, as he had been a Shinto, while all the other Japanese expedition members were Buddhists. In the end, it was Miko Kusanagi who offered to burn incense and set a casket with flowers onto his grave, according to tradition. She also chanted a sutra, which was Buddhist tradition, but she hoped Yamato wouldn’t mind it. This was the most they could offer, no-one knowing the exact rites Shinto tradition would demand.

After the religious part Major Lorne spoke a few words about the fallen American soldiers and Major Vogel spoke about the European ones. Kirkitadze spoke about the civilians who’d been killed, and Theresa Weir managed to put together a proper eulogy for Major Sheppard. When all those sad duties had been performed, the Athosians invited everyone to a memorial feast that went on most of the afternoon. It was a fitting end of all the mourning, giving people the chance to speak about their losses as well as to share fond memories of the fallen.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Aiden Ford hadn’t been allowed to go to the funeral ceremony. Oh, he’d wanted it – the thought to have someone else speak about Yamato angered him to no end, and he’d tried to intimidate Dr. Beckett into backing off, as for some reason the good doctor seemed uncomfortable enough around him to be bullied more easily. But that long-haired ape from the _Andromeda Ascendant_ had come to Carson’s aid and held him immobilized, so that Carson could sedate him.

For some reason, though, the strong sedative that could have knocked an elephant unconscious had barely dimmed his awareness. Like through a dampening veil, he could hear Carson and Dr. Weir discussing his condition. Carson was worried about the enzyme affecting his brain chemistry and suggested to weaning him off quicker than originally planned.

They were planning to make him go cold turkey, no matter how painful and dangerous that might be!

Hearing that, he finally understood. These people of whom he’d believed were his friends were, in fact, afraid of him! They wanted him to die, rather than help him getting adjusted to his new abilities!

He couldn’t stay here. He needed to escape, and he needed to do it while the long-haired savage with the bone spurs was away, taking his aged captain back to the _Andromeda_. That Tyr person was an unknown quality, one that Aiden didn’t want to test right now. He needed to make his move while one of his fellow Marines was posted to guard the infirmary door. He knew how to outsmart his own men; and besides, he was now stronger and better than any of them, wasn’t he?

He had to choose the moment well. So he wanted until everyone – including the guard – was distracted by Dr. Nguyen and Nurse Ow changing Teague’s bandages. By some miracle, ‘Boss’ Teague had survived the grenade explosion but was gravely injured and in considerable pain. His pitiful moans distracted the guard properly, so that the man didn’t notice Aiden sliding off his bed and sneaking up behind him.

Aiden grabbed a small, rectangular medical box from one of the bedside tables – it was sufficiently heavy – and slammed it down into the back of the Marine’s head. The guard swayed and fell, half-turning in the process, his eyes wide open and surprised. Aiden glanced at his face and saw with a pang of regret that it was Toussaint. He’d perhaps just killed the only combat-ready man of his own unit, who’d opted to stay behind and watch over him and Teague.

But that regret only lasted for a fleeting moment, the instinctive need to fight and run taking over. Aiden grabbed Toussaint’s pistol and aimed at Nguyen.

“Don’t move or I’ll shoot!” he hissed, ignoring the expression of shocked betrayal on Teague’s face. “Where’s the rest of the enzyme?”

The mild-mannered Vietnamese doctor swallowed nervously. “There is no more.”

“Don’t lie to me!” Aiden screamed. “I saw Doctor B extract it. Where is it?”

For a middle-aged, physically unimpressive man Dr. Nguyen didn’t back off easily.

“No, I’m not lying,” he replied with quiet dignity, although they both knew he was.

Aiden fired at him only just missing him. “Where. Is. It.”

Dr. Nguyen flinched. “You’re not thinking straight, Lieutenant.”

“And you’re all afraid of me,” Aiden retorted.

“We’ve good reason to be, I’d say,” Nguyen said dryly. “Especially considering the show you’re performing right now.”

“You should,” Aiden said darkly. “I heard what Doctor B said; you’re gonna to take the enzyme from me, and then I’m gonna die. That’s what he wants. That’s what you _all_ want.”

“Lieutenant, you’re _not_ gonna die,” Julie Ow tried to reason with him.

Aiden backhanded her with enough force to send her flying against the bulkhead.

“Shut up!’ he screamed. Then, without taking his eyes off Nguyen, he slowly, deliberately turned his gun at the barely alive Teague in the wheelchair, who was watching him with terrified eyes. “I’m _not_ gonna ask again.”

Nguyen was an experienced doctor. He’d also worked in a mental ward for the criminally insane for a couple of years, so he knew a crazy man when he saw one. He had absolutely no doubt that in his current mindset Aiden Ford was ready and willing to kill an injured man of his own unit – and the one who’d saved his life at that – just to get his fix.

So he walked over to one of the cabinets and took out a bag of fluid. Aiden glared at him suspiciously. “Is that all of it?”

“It is,” Nguyen replied. “Unless you want to go to the morgue and search the Wraith corpses, in cause we’ve missed one.”

For a moment, Aiden seriously considered doing so. In his experience, medical personnel could be very sneaky. But the doctor seemed defeated enough, and besides, he didn’t have the time.

“Toss it over!” he ordered. Seeing Nguyen’s hesitation, he aimed at Teague again and repeated. “Toss. It. Over!” Reluctantly, Nguyen tossed it over. Aiden caught it with his free hand and run out, of the infirmary, calling back over his shoulder. “Don’t follow me!”

When he was out of earshot, Julie Ow clambered to her feet, dabbling at her bleeding lip with a gauze pad. She looked at Dr. Nguyen in concern.

“It was a good idea to give him the portion that has been diluted with a saline solution,” she said, “but I’m still worried about him running free on the station. We better alert security.”

“Alert… Gate room…” Teague whispered. “He’ll try to… escape through… the Gate…” and he promptly lost consciousness.

“Do it,” Nguyen said to Julie. “I’ll take this man back to the OP-room. It seems some of his stitches have broken. And look after that guard when you’re done.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Dr. Zelenka hadn’t gone to the funeral ceremony either. He could have insisted, of course – he was an important enough person in Atlantis’ working hierarchy to do so – but he preferred to stay in the city and watch the long-range sensors. It hadn’t been so long ago that he’d had to speak at the funeral of Paul Hays and the other scientists killed by the nanovirus. He didn’t want to be reminded of that loss too clearly. Paul Hays had been his best friend from day one on, better even than Grodin – he still grieved for the man.

Marta had been most understanding. She’d gone with the others to speak her farewells to the fallen Athosians and to spend the day of mourning with the rest of the family, but she hadn’t insisted that Radek should go with her. She understood that he grieved differently, and he loved her for that understanding all the more.

When things had calmed down a little, and they could be certain that there was no immediate danger from the Wraith, he’d ask for a few days of leave and go to the mainland to the family – to _his_ family. He knew he couldn’t hope for a longer vacation, but he needed a day or two in Halling’s calming presence. To sleep eight hours or more in a row. To be pampered by Ireni. To tell ghost stories of Prague to Jinto, Wex, and the other Athosian children, who were so different from his sister’s insufferable brat. To simply sit on the grass with his head in Marta’s lap, feeling the tiny movements of their child within her body.

Despite his exhaustion, he couldn’t help but smile, thinking of the baby that would be born, soon. He already had a daughter back on Earth, but his ex-wife had done her best to let them see each other as little as possible. He still missed Hanka terribly, but it was a great comfort to know that no-one would try to keep him from seeing _this_ child. And his honorary sons, Wex and Jinto, were certainly a lot better behaved than Jirina’s Kasimir.

“Control room, this is the infirmary,” the voice of Nurse Ow suddenly said. “Lieutenant Ford has escaped and is potentially very dangerous. We’ve sent security to the Gate room, but they might be too late.”

“And what am I supposed to do?” Radek asked. “Am no Arnold Schwarzenegger to keep Rambo restrained.”

“You don’t need to restrain him,” the nurse replied. “Just try to distract him until security arrives. Sorry, Doctor Zelenka, I have to go. We’ve got… complications here.”

Radek rolled his eyes. “Just try to distract him,” he muttered under his breath. “ _Do prdele_. Easy for her to say. How do I distract crazy Marine on powerful drugs? Am brilliant scientist, not killing machine.” He took out a modified life-sign detector – one that worked for those without the gene – to set it on alert, should anyone approach the Gate room.

He was concentrating so hard that he didn’t hear Aiden until the young Marine was standing right before his nose.

“Don’t break a sweat, Doc,” Aiden sneered. “I’ll take over things from here.”

With that, he punched Zelenka in the face, knocking him to the ground. Not even glancing at the slumped body at his feet, Aiden ran to the DHD and punched in an address he could still remember from earlier scouting missions with Sheppard’s team.

The Stargate whooshed alive at the same moment security reached the Gate room. Aiden picked up his rucksack and ran for the Gate.

“Lieutenant!” Branco Vukovic, the civilian security officer on duty called sternly. “Stand down, or we’ll be forced to shoot.”

Aiden glanced at him for a moment, then threw himself backwards into the Gate, which shut down behind him. Vukovic stepped to the DHD and glanced at the controls.

“The Gate address is in the log,” he said. “Good. We’ll be able to follow him when everyone is back again.”

His team colleague, Tekin Kurtulus, shook his head. “It doesn’t matter where he goes. The second he arrives to whatever address he’d punched in, he’ll turn around and dial another address – one we won’t be able to trace. We better call a medical team, though. It seems he’d knocked out Doctor Z thoroughly.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Although she was shaken by the state of her captain, Rommie was relieved to have Dylan back. She wasn’t the least surprised that Beka had turned around to go back to Atlantis as soon as Dylan was settled comfortably, though. Harper could still not be moved, and it was understandable that Beka wanted to stay with him at least until he regained consciousness. As long as they were just sitting in orbit, Dylan could still function as captain, despite his greatly weakened state.

Ms Capec had returned with them, to take care of Dylan, since she was an experienced nurse. Liave Kassai, however, remained in Atlantis with her brother, and so did Freya – and that surprised Rommie a great deal.

“I found it more secure for my family to stay in Atlantis for the time being,” Tyr explained in typical Nietzschean fashion, meaning that he gave no real explanation at all.

“Your… _family_?” Rommie repeated.

Tyr nodded, his expression smug. “Liave has declared her wish to undergo the conversion, together with her brother,” he said.

Rommie had been aware of the Nietzschean’s courting of Ms Kassai, but the fact that the possibility of conversion had been considered had somehow slipped by her. It made sense, though. Tyr couldn’t hope to find other Nietzscheans in this reality, and for a woman as strong-willed and athletic as Ms Kassai, becoming a Nietzschean could definitely had its attraction.

“Wouldn’t it be more safely done here, on my medical deck?” she asked. “It’s doubtlessly more advanced than the infirmary of Atlantis, even with all that Ancient technology – which they still can’t use properly anyway.”

“Your medical deck is fine,” Tyr agreed. “It is your life sciences officer that we have a problem with.”

“I see,” Rommie paused for a moment. “So you’ve noticed the increase of her… erratic behaviour as well?”

“Of course,” Tyr said. “But more than that: Rev Bem warned us before his death.”

“Warned about what?” Rommie asked with a frown.

“About _her_ ,” Tyr replied. “That _she_ could be dangerous… that it could be devastating when it goes to the end with _her_. He said _she_ should be cast out into empty space… far from any source of solar energy.”

“I don’t believe Beka would be willing to do that,” Rommie said. “In fact, I’m not sure _I’d be_ willing to do that.”

“He also mentioned something called an Athanor,” Tyr said slowly.

Rommie furrowed her smooth brow. “That’s… strange.”

“You know what an Athanor is?” Tyr asked.

“There are different meanings to that word,” Rommie answered. “Originally, a furnace that feeds itself so as to maintain a uniform temperature was meant by it; it was used by alchemists on Earth, in the Middle Ages. Later on, however, the word gained a more… uncomfortable meaning. Athanor are powerful beings… immortal, strong and ruthless. Some sources say they used to be humans that got involved with dark powers and transformed beyond the limits of mortality. Others say they had always been beings born of shadow power… or from other dimensions.”

“Like the Magog god?” Tyr asked slowly.

Rommie nodded. “Among others, yes. Although I must admit that I’ve never considered their existence anything but a legend… until recently.”

“And you are telling me that Trance is one of those entities?” Tyr asked doubtfully.

Rommie shrugged. “I don’t think that I’d be the best person to discuss transcendent matters with, but… Let’s consider the empiric facts: how many people have you met who’d been murdered and then ‘got better’, just like that, as if nothing had happened? And believe me, she _was_ dead after Gerentex had shot her.”

Tyr nodded thoughtfully. “You do have a point there.”

“And consider her ability to see several possible futures,” Rommie continued. “Granted, precognition is a well-known, albeit rare ability among several species, but it’s still a long way from the _knowledge_ she’s displayed repeatedly.”

“Again, you have a point,” Tyr admitted.

Rommie lowered her voice. “There is more. My sources say that the Athanor are often considered gods or demons by less advanced people. That even knowing them could be dangerous. And I’ve heard Harper telling Trance that – while he’d still had the All Systems University database in his head – he once caught a glimpse of a temple, where the natives worshipped a naked purple goddess with a tail. He even sang the beginning of one of the hymns – if you can call it singing. It sounded like the yowling of a male Makra in the heat.”

“And how did Trance react?” Tyr asked.

“Obfuscating, as always,” Rommie said with a shrug. “She said that those people perhaps just liked purple. But she was panicking, Tyr. I could see it… and Harper, too. She made Harper promise that he’d never tell about it anyone.”

“And the Little Professor made that promise?” Tyr asked.

Rommie nodded. “Of course. You know Harper. He’s immensely loyal to those he considers _his_. Still…”

“… it explains why Trance never really moved a finger to help him getting rid of the larvae,” Tyr finished for her. “She wanted her secret to be buried with Harper. So much about friendship. Freya has been right, all the time.”

Rommie nodded again. “Your First Wife has a remarkable intelligence… which is surprising, considering that she’s grown up in Orca Pride, which certainly doesn’t represent the peak of Nietzschean perfection.”

Tyr shrugged. “Either a successful combination of genes, or there was once more to Orca Pride than there is now.”

“Not according to my records, there wasn’t,” Rommie said cynically. “But that shouldn’t be our concern now. Tell me, Tyr, are you and Ms Kassai really willing to risk the conversion? It’s not entirely without risk, you know that, not even for someone as strong and healthy as she is… or her brother. In fact, I didn’t know that it was still practiced among Nietzscheans.”

“It is not a common practice,” Tyr admitted, “unless the members of a clan – or an entire Pride – are dangerously depleted. Right now, with Freya and myself as the only Nietzscheans in this whole galaxy, there _is_ a need to take extreme measures… just like after the Battle of Witchhead.”

“It’s still a risky process,” Rommie warned, “especially for an adult.”

“There _are_ risks,” Tyr agreed. “But that Doctor Beckett seems to be a very good geneticist, and so is Liave herself. I am optimistic that between the two of them, they will manage to minimalize those risks.”

“But won’t they need an infusion of Nietzschean DNA for the process to work in the first place?” Rommie asked.

“They will,” Tyr said. “Young Leuk Kassai will receive a conserved sample of my own DNA; that way, my bloodline will continue and spread, no matter what might happen to me. As for Liave… in her case we shall require your help.”

Rommie asked an elegant eyebrow. “Mine?”

“I have checked your database,” Tyr said. “You have got conserved DNA-samples from everyone who had ever served on you… including twenty-three members of Kodiak Pride. Sixteen of those had _not_ been related to my clan in any way. Three of those non-related ones had excellent bloodlines. I shall require one of those three samples: that of Lavinia Monomachos, out of Arachne by Leonidas.”

“And I should sacrifice the last thing I still have from one of my highly valued crewmembers… why exactly?” Rommie asked.

“Because that sample does you no good where it is now,” Tyr replied with a shrug. “And because that way you can get Lavinia back… to a certain extent.”

“You mean Liave will go through the whole conversion thing, even taking Lavinia’s name?” Rommie asked.

Tyr nodded. “Of course. That’s the whole point. Her people are dead, her planet destroyed; she wants a clean, new start for herself and her brother. Young Leuk will take on the name Leonidas Anasazi, in the original Lavinia’s honour. The only things they are going to keep are their parents’ names.”

“Are they allowed to do that at all?” Rommie asked.

“Usually, that would not be so,” Tyr admitted. “But this is an unusual situation. The Nietzschean race, too, has the chance to get a new, clean start here. I am trying _not_ to repeat the mistakes of the past… not even in small things, if possible. Although I would not consider denying one’s roots a small thing.”

“So you’re not planning to return to our own universe… reality… time… whatever?” Rommie asked.

Tyr shook his head. “No. Firstly, I do not believe that it would be possible at all. I believe our getting here was an accident; a mistake that Trance has made, and which, considering how desperate she is to get us back, she cannot correct. If _she_ cannot, we would not be able to do so, either. Secondly, I do believe that we are better off here than we could ever be back home. Granted, the worlds and races in this reality are a lot more primitive than what we are used to, but they have potential. Great potential. And they do not have to live in the kind of chaos and destruction that is normal for our reality.”

“They have the Wraith to worry about,” Rommie pointed out, “and who knows what other dangers.”

“There are always dangers,” Tyr said. “But with our advantages – namely _you_ and the knowledge stored in your database – we have the chance to wrestle dominance over this galaxy from the Wraith. What?” he asked, seeing that Rommie was suddenly grinning from ear to ear.

“You do realize that your plans aren’t all that different from Dylan’s quest to restore the Commonwealth, do you?” she asked, still grinning.

“Ironic, is it not?” he grinned back at her. “The difference is, _my_ plans do have a chance to work.”

“Beware Tyr Anasazi, unquestioned ruler of the Pegasus galaxy,” Rommie commented sarcastically.

Tyr shrugged. “I am not thinking in such grand measures… not yet anyway. Pragmatic planning is something my Pride had bred for from the beginning. So, ruling the galaxy will probably have to wait another generation or two. But we have the chance to settle on a planet of our liking here, and we have the technology to make it a safe haven for us – none of those things would we be able to do back home.”

“No Magog, no competing Prides, and an enemy that you have the chance to beat, even if it won’t be easy,” Rommie added thoughtfully. “I’ve had enough Nietzscheans serving on me to understand what the attraction would be.”

“I am not the only one attracted by the unique chances this reality can offer,” Tyr said. “I doubt that the Than would wish to return, even after their offspring has matured enough to be removed from Gemini IV. The Perseids are insanely happy to baby-sit the new renaissance of the Hoffan culture and would wish to spend a lot of time in Atlantis, too. And once Harper recovers… do you think he would want to leave a reality where Earth is a thriving, independent world… even though out of his reach? Even if we _could_ return, I believe he would choose to stay here, with his fellow Earthlings. These people in Atlantis are more his kind than any of us could ever become.”

“Except Beka,” Rommie said.

Tyr shook his head. “Even Beka is often infuriatingly condescending with him. And she was very nasty to him during her Flash episode. The Little Professor forgave him, like he always does, but I do not think that he has forgotten.”

“Perhaps not,” Rommie allowed. “Do you know that Dylan has arranged for Beka to become my captain after him?”

“I did not _know_ ,” Tyr replied, “but it was to be expected. The only other chance would be me, and we both know that Dylan would never allow you to fall into _my_ hands.”

“Can you blame him?” Rommie asked.

“From his point of view… no, I cannot,” Tyr answered. “I understand his motivation. It is still a bad decision, though.”

“I thought you liked Beka,” Rommie said.

“I do,” Tyr replied. “She’s remarkably ruthless for a mere human and has a praiseworthy instinct for self-preservation. But she is not used to thinking – and fighting – on a broader scale. To put it simply: she would do great in a tight dogfight, ship against ship, and would most likely emerge victoriously. But she would fail miserably, should she have to lead a small fleet against a Wraith armada.”

“While _you_ , of course, would be successfully performing the same task,” Rommie said with barely veiled irony.

“I was born to the ruling family of Kodiak Pride,” Tyr answered simply. “That is as close to royalty as our Pride ever had. I began to take lessons in strategy and warfare at the age of ten. Even though my education had been interrupted untimely, I had a good start – my success as a mercenary was mostly based on my ability of tactical thinking. So yes, I do believe that I would make a much better warlord than Captain Valentine.”

“Perhaps,” Rommie said. “But I have my orders.”

“I am not trying to make you disobey them,” Tyr replied, “although as a sentient being, you do have that ability. All I ask you is that preserved DNA sample of Lavinia Monomachos, so that I would be able to restore my Pride.”

“I’m still not convinced why should I grant you that particular wish,” Rommie said.

Tyr arched an ironic eyebrow. “Do it for her,” he said. “You can ensure her immortality by offering up the sample. Her genetic heritage will be continued in Liave’s children and grandchildren and their offspring. You would grant Lavinia the exact thing every Nietzschean has always hoped for.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
It was quite the shock for the leading staff of Atlantis to return from the mainland and find Aiden gone, Dr. Nguyen in the OP room, restitching Teague’s wound, and Nurse Ow bandaging Toussaint’s broken head, with a vivid bruise on her own face where she’d hit the wall. But in the worst shape of all seemed to be Zelenka. His face was a bloody mess, covered with a large purple bruise, his nose horribly swollen, and even though Julie Ow had cleaned his airways already, he needed an oxygen cannula to breathe properly. Dr. Nguyen had also diagnosed a concussion before vanishing into the OP room with Teague, so he needed to be kept awake. Which, considering how exhausted and overworked he’d been to begin with, wasn’t an easy task.

When Theresa and Rodney arrived in the infirmary, they already found the whole family surrounding Radek’s bed. Marta and Ireni – a tall, erect, slightly hard-faced, black-haired Athosian woman in her mid-thirties – were holding his hands and speaking to him in soothing tones. Wex and Jinto were sitting at the foot end of the bed, waiting for him anxiously to open his eyes. The tall, forbidding figure of Halling was looming at the headboard, his bearded, usually gentle face uncommonly hard and pale with anger.

“Doctor Weir,” he said with a curt nod. “We are considering taking Radek with us to the mainland, as soon as Dr. Beckett releases him.”

“The hell you are!” Rodney exploded. “He’s needed here; what would he do on the mainland anyway? He’s an engineer, not a farmer.”

“He is family,” Halling corrected coldly. “And since you are apparently unable to ensure his safety, we are going to take care of him from now on.”

“Shouldn’t that be Doctor Zelenka’s decision?” Theresa asked mildly. She couldn’t refuse Halling’s accusation out of hand; she should have put Aiden under double guard after Tyr Anasazi had to return to the _Andromeda_ … or had him restrained more safely. His apparent acquiescence had fooled them all.

“No,” Halling said. “Would we leave the decision to him, he would stay here, working from his bed, or even crawling in airducts within the day, putting even more strain on himself. He needs to regain his strength, and he must be properly cared for. We shall provide him with all that he needs.”

“I don’t think he’ll follow you docilely,” Rodney said with a snort. “He’ll die of boredom before the day is over.”

“He will have to accommodate,” Halling said calmly. “I am the family head, I decide what is good for the family… or for its individual members. Radek knew this and accepted this when he married into our family.”

“You can’t expect him to just shut up and obey!” Rodney protested.

“Oh, he is allowed to argue as much as he wants,” Halling answered with a faint smile. “It would not change a thing, though. Doctor Beckett,” he said, turning to Carson, “when can we move him safely?”

“I’d like to keep him here for a day, because of the concussion,” the doctor replied. “But after that, I wouldnae have any objections.”

“Carson!” Rodney glared daggers at him for such blatant treachery, but the doctor shrugged.

“Rodney, try to be reasonable. There isnae a thing we can do, other than keep an eye on him, and his family can do that much better. They can watch him and pamper him and make him rest. He needs all those things, and we don’t have the personnel to provide ‘em. So I suggest we let his family do it.”

“But we have repairs to make!” Rodney insisted. “Atlantis has suffered considerable damage, and now that there’s even fewer of us than before…”

“… we can’t afford to lose Radek as well,” Theresa interrupted. “Leave it be, Rodney. Radek could barely stand on his feet already – he needs to recover his strength. The repairs can wait for a while.”

“No, they can’t!” Rodney retorted. “In case you’ve forgotten, three Wraith cruisers escaped from the big showdown. Sooner or later, they will come back. With reinforcements.”

“And without a sufficient energy source to power up the shield, there is nothing we can really do about them,” Theresa answered. “Besides, with the _Andromeda_ in orbit, we’re still better off than we’ve ever been since our arrival here. So, calm down and sleep a few hours… say, ten or twelve… before you start headfirst into work again. That’s an order, Rodney! Go and rest!”

For a moment, it seemed as if Rodney wanted to argue. But then exhaustion poured all over his face and he gave in with a short nod. “Right. Rest. I can do that.”

“I hope so,” Theresa murmured, watching him go. She knew he’d be on his feet in five or six hours again – his overactive mind simply didn’t allow him to rest any longer – but even five or six hours of sleep were better than nothing. With Zelenka out of the equation, they now depended on McKay more than ever.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Leaving Radek in the hands of his family – and happy to do so – Carson Beckett returned to his office. He had a previous arrangement to meet Ms Kassai and that predatory Nietzschean woman, what was her name again? Oh, aye, Freya. They wanted some sort of genetic treatment he still couldn’t fully understand and was _not_ willing to help with, unless they could make him both the reason and the process plausible.

Actually, the process itself was the part that he could understand. Basically, it meant rather drastic genetic manipulations, so that the Hoffan woman would turn into a Nietzschean one – and they wanted the same thing to be done to his eleven-year-old brother, which fact freaked out Carson even more.

They had provided a full genetic map of both ‘patients’ as well as a detailed description of the process in advance. Carson hadn’t had enough time to study either of those in depth yet, but a casual reading had already made him understand that the process served to remove every gene, passive _and_ recessive, that could possibly cause a biological defect. Also, an infusion of Nietzschean genetic material would be required, to which the two women would be providing the necessary samples.

The medical database of the _Andromeda_ had already shown that in the alternate reality, where these people had come from, genetic engineering was considered a completely normal way to enhance both individuals and entire species. Carson had taken a brief glimpse at the origins of the _homo sapiens invictus_ , as the Nietzscheans were scientifically named, and had to admit that they had done rather nice work with their species.

When looked at them on a scientific level, they were still a group of _homo sapiens_ , like humans, Athosians, Hoffans and all the other humanoid races sown by the Ancients in two galaxies. But not only were they five times stronger and two times faster than an average human of their size and gender, they were also immune to most poisons and diseases. Among the poisons listed as harmless to them were aconite, ammonia, antipyrine, arsenic, atropine, camphor, hydrocyanic acid, iodine, lead, picrotoxin, and strychnine. Among the diseases were diphtheria, hepatitis A, hepatitis B, influenza, lyme disease, measles, meningococcal disease, mumps, pertussis, pneumococcal disease, polio, rabies, rubella, tetanus, and varicella. That alone sounded like a wonder, but apparently, they were even able to breathe chlorine gas for as long as thirty minutes, without suffering permanent damage, and could consume practically any organic substances that would be inedible to normal humans.

So aye, Carson could see why someone would want to become a Nietzschean – and why the genetically engineered superhumans were extremely choosy in whom they would allow to ‘convert’, as they called it. Still, he found the process very risky (especially for grown adults) and was a bit reluctant to have any part in it.

“Have yer people not suffered enough already due to hastened medical experiments?” he asked Ms Kassai worriedly. “Would ya really risk your own life – and that of your kid brother – for nothin’?”

“This is not an experiment,” Freya corrected. “The process has been practiced for two millennia by my people. There _is_ a risk – I would not deny it. But the gain is far greater.”

Carson looked at the Hoffan woman doubtfully. “Are ya really sure about that?” he asked.

Ms Kassai nodded. "That I am, Doctor. See, I’m only half-Hoffan. My looks are different and my attitude is different – and because of that, I always felt like an outsider. My father’s people have been wiped out by the Wraith, so returning to them is not an option. I have no true home, no family aside from my brother, no race to which I would truly belong. If this works, I’ll gain a new identity, a family, and so will my brother. And as Nietzscheans, we’ll have a better chance against the Wraith.”

Carson could understand that – after all, the virus only protected the Hoffans from being fed from, not from being killed – but he still hesitated.

“What's in it for you?” he asked Freya suspiciously.

The Nietzschean woman shrugged. “My husband will gain a Second Wife from his own, extinct Pride; and an heir from his own bloodline. As a rule, Nietzschean families are large and consist of several wives and a great many children. We are the only Nietzscheans in this reality; we _need_ to look out for suitable candidates to strengthen our numbers through conversion. Liave’s genes are excellent and so are those of her brother. They will make our Pride strong and resilient. We all get what we need through this process.”

“I’m still not sure that helping ya do this wouldnae be against the Hippocratic Oath,” Carson murmured.

Ms Kassai smiled and patted his arm. “You won’t be harming us, Doctor; on the contrary. See, we’re going to do this, with or without your help. We do have the means. But if _you_ help us, we’ll have a much better chance to get through it unharmed.”

Carson glared at her accusingly. “That’s blackmailin’, lass, ya know that, right?”

“Yes, it is,” Freya agreed calmly. “Is it working?”

Carson gave a heavy sigh. He knew they’d do it, with or without him, and he also knew he couldn’t allow them to do it on their own. He still wished he knew more about the whole thing, though… and about all that medical technology they were going to use.”

“Let’s compromise,” he said. “I’ll help ya if I can consult yer medical officer first. Just to play safe.”

“I am afraid that would not be possible,” Freya said coldly. “The life sciences officer of the _Andromeda_ is in a… fragile state of mind. But I shall try to call in the Than scientist. She is good enough at genetics and medical technology and hopefully not in the mating frenzy right now. Can you arrange for us to use the Stargate?”

“I’ll have to ask Doctor Weir,” Carson replied, “but I think it can be done.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Theresa Weir had no objections – especially since good relations with the bugs would allow the engineers of Atlantis to study the sun-shield on M85-393 – and so on the next day Carson, Peter Grodin and Ms Kassai went through the Stargate to meet the Sapphire Than. Fortunately for them, most of the bugs had already gone through the mating frenzy and were done with laying their eggs. Only the Ruby Than and the Emerald warriors, who’d come in later, were still at it.

Theresa chose in the last moment to accompany the little delegation. She’d understood that the Than were largely independent from Captain Hunt and his mission – whatever _that_ might have been – and could turn out as valuable allies. She wanted to negotiate for free access to the sun-shield generator for her scientists. She also hoped to restart the cooperation with Hoff… through a mutual ally, if possible, so that neither party would need to lose face.

She found the Diamond Than a fairly reasonable negotiating partner. Born to Starfire might have been full of herself, but she was an intelligent, practical individual, capable of recognizing a mutual advantage when she saw one. Knowing that she would never gain unlimited access to the _Andromeda_ – even if Captain Hunt died in the near future, they simply wouldn’t have a chance against the Nietzscheans to seize the ship – she turned to the next best source of advanced technology… which was Atlantis. Not that she wanted to break up contacts with Hoff, but Hoff was, technologically, too primitive to provide the environment the Than would prefer in the long run.

“We haven’t had much time to map our surroundings so far,” she explained. “The mating period is still going on, and we don’t have the necessary equipment. Slipfighters are not best suited for planetary survey, and even if Captain Valentine would be willing to loan us the _Eureka Maru_ , the ship would never pass through the Stargate.”

“We could loan you a puddle jumper,” Theresa offered. “Their onboard systems are programmed to search for advanced technology; which, I assume, is your first interest.”

Born to Starfire tilted her head to the side in tolerant amusement. Humans were so predictable sometimes. “And what kind of payment would you accept for that loan?” she asked.

“Access to the generator you’ve found earlier,” Theresa replied promptly, seizing the opportunity offered to her.

“You know what the device is for?” the Diamond Than asked.

“We think so,” Theresa answered. “Our people have seen something similar on another planet in the Milky Way galaxy, but we didn’t have a chance to study it. The natives weren’t exactly… forthcoming.”

“I see.” It was obvious that Born to Starfire knew it wasn’t the whole story, but she chose not to ask for details… for now. “So what _does_ it do?”

“We think it can generate a protective shield, capable of filtering out harmful radiation,” Theresa replied truthfully. “If we find the other device, that is. You need two of those to make the shield work.”

“Interesting,” the Diamond Than said. “We’d like to learn more about this technology. Not that we’d need the protection – we’re resilient to a much broader scale of radiation than mammals – but we’d prefer to offer it to visiting allies.”

“I’ll see that our scientists provide you with what little we have on the technology,” Theresa promised. “Maybe together we can even reverse-engineer it and equip other planets with similar devices.”

“That could be useful indeed, considering that the main species of this galaxy seem all to be humanoid,” the Diamond Than agreed. Then, after a short pause, she changed the topic. “Tell me, Doctor Weir, are you truly willing to fill this galaxy with Nietzscheans?”

Theresa looked at her carefully. “Are you advising against it?”

“That’s an interesting question,” Born to Starfire replied elusively. “I understand that the human philosopher Nietzsche, as well as their other philosophical icons like Darwin or Dawkins, also existed in your reality?”

“Actually,” Theresa said, “Richard Dawkins is still alive and teaching in several universities.”

“I see,” Born to Starfire thought for a moment. “Are you familiar with Nietzsche’s ideas?”

Theresa nodded. “As far as I can tell, Nietzsche believed that strife and conflict would inevitably reshape men into something better and stronger than what they once were. I must admit that I found his ideas a little… far-fetched and confusing, even read in German original.”

“Oh, I agree,” the Diamond Than said, “although my opinion probably doesn’t count, as I find the thought processes of mammals generally confusing. The Nietzscheans as a species, however, apparently took their master’s words to heart and used genetic engineering, selective breeding and nanotechnology to speed up the reshaping process quite a bit.”

“I had the chance to talk to Freya Anasazi,” Theresa said. “What she told me was interesting, but all that arguing for social Darwinism and Dawkinite genetic competitiveness strikes me as fairly selfish and arrogant.”

“They can come over like that,” Born to Starfire agreed. “It comes from their single-minded devotion to self-improvement and the constant propagation of their own genes. It’s undeniable, however, that their boundless energy used to make them valued contributors to the Systems Commonwealth.”

“In what way?” Theresa asked, a little doubtfully.

“For centuries, they lived as loyal Commonwealth citizens,” the Diamond Than explained, “obeying its institutions and energetically contributing to its welfare.”

“Until they decided to destroy it,” Theresa injected, having heard of _that_ part from Beka Valentine.

Born to Starfire wiggled her antennae in a manner that somehow signalled a shrug, even to Theresa who wasn’t familiar with Than mannerisms.

“Actually, their discontent with the Commonwealth had been growing for decades,” she replied. “Many of them saw the Commonwealth as a decadent and insufficiently challenging environment for a people who counted as the ultimate survivors. But things perhaps would have simmered for quite a while yet, if not for the Magog invasion in 4840.”

“Why that?” Theresa asked. “I’d think the Magog would provide a sufficient challenge to anyone.”

“More than sufficient,” Born to Starfire agreed grimly. “You’ve only met Reverend Behemial, who was a devoted pacifist, due to his faith… you can’t even begin to imagine what a horde of hungry Magog is like. Where they appear, nothing survives. Those who are not massacred or eaten, are used as living birthing chambers. Our philosophers had debated for millennia over the question whether or not pure evil exists – since 4840, those debates have ceased, as an answer has been found.”

“So the Nietzscheans were beaten by the Magog?” Theresa frowned. “How is that possible? Didn’t you just say that they praise themselves as the ultimate survivors?”

“They do… and they are,” the Diamond Than replied. “But they have been a frontier-dwelling people since their creation, and due to their competitive nature, they tended to live on remote worlds. These worlds were the ones that found themselves along the front lines, and, consequently, suffered greatly from Magog attacks. Dawkinstown, Hawking, Kagame’s World – colonies that had thrived for a thousand years – were wiped out within days. The Nietzscheans had the weapons and the willpower, but the Magog had the _numbers_. They swarmed those worlds like locusts, leaving nothing but death and destruction in their wake.”

“That must have shaken the Nietzscheans to the bone,” Theresa remarked. “I mean, they weren’t used to _losing_ , were they?”

“No,” Born to Starfire said. “They were not. And when the Commonwealth signed the peace treaty of Antares fifteen years later, they saw it as the ultimate betrayal of the losses they had suffered and the burdens they had borne in the long fight against the most implacable foe they had faced in their whole existence.”

“On a purely personal level, I can’t blame them,” Theresa said. “Yet as a diplomat, I know that sometimes questionable steps must be made – for the greater good.”

“And speaking so, you would be making the same mistake by dealing with Nietzscheans as the Commonwealth has made,” the Diamond Than said. “For Nietzscheans, there will _never_ be a greater good than their own survival – that of the individual, that of the Pride, that of the entire species. There may be a shifting of priorities _within_ those parameters, but you can’t expect them to put _anything_ before their survival. _Ever_. It’s not in their _nature_.”

“Are you advising me to hinder them in spreading throughout the Pegasus galaxy, then?” Theresa asked.

“No,” Born to Starfire said. “They can be useful and loyal allies, and you’ll need their strength against the Wraith. What I’m advising is: make sure that their best interests and yours are the same – and be prepared to fight them, once that is no longer the case.”

“I think fighting them would be the problem of the next generation… or the one after,” Theresa said.

“Don’t be so sure,” the Than warned. “Nietzscheans usually have large families, and they mature more quickly than average humans. They are considered adults when they reach reproductive age – which usually happens around the age of twelve. When they reach fourteen, they are, as a rule, fully grown and look like a human of twenty. Due to their custom of a male having multiple wives, they can bring up an army within two decades.”

“And army that could turn against us, should we fail to persuade them that our best interests converge,” Theresa said thoughtfully. “With other words, in the course of taming one enemy, we might create a far more dangerous one.”

“That is a distinct possibility, yes,” Born to Starfire admitted. “But a possibility only, not a necessity. Even for Nietzscheans, an entire galaxy should be large enough to coexist with other people. And _you_ have a better chance to deal with them than anyone else.”

“Me?” Theresa asked doubtfully. “I’ve never seen one of them before. They don’t even exist in our reality, as you know.”

“Not you as an individual,” the Diamond Than clarified. “You humans as a species. The Vedrans – the founders and unquestioned leaders of the Commonwealth - have lost because they were unable to understand what motivated the Nietzscheans.”

“And you think _we_ could understand them better?” Theresa asked with a frown.

The Than nodded. “You have the best chance,” she said. “Because despite all their genetic engineering and the superhuman strength and endurance as its result, they are still basically human beings, with human emotions. So yes, I do believe that in a galaxy filled with human people they would have a much easier way to adapt.”

“Are you giving me hints how to handle them?” Theresa asked, only half-joking. After all, the Than had centuries of her own people’s knowledge about dealing with Nietzscheans.

“Of course,” Born to Starfire replied. “First: show no weakness, or you’ll become the prey. Second: be truthful and loyal. Third: be prepared to be betrayed when that is what their survival would require.”

“That doesn’t sound very promising,” Theresa said. “Perhaps we’d be better off without them, after all.”

“It’s too late for that,” the Diamond Than replied. “They have the will, and they have found the way. You can’t stop them now any more than you could stop a tsunami racing towards Atlantis. The best thing you can do is to ride the wave. If you learn how to do _that_ , it will carry you far.”

“Is that what you are planning to do?” Theresa asked.

“Of course,” the Than said. “It’s simple practicality: if you can’t hold back a force of nature, the best thing is to use it to your own advantage. You should ask Captain Valentine for pointers; she’s got great practice in that sort of thing.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Carson found the consultation with Radiance of Wisdom enlightening, even though talking to a man-sized, shimmering blue insect freaked him out a little. Still, he found that the Sapphire Than not only possessed a surprisingly broad range of scientific knowledge but also a distinct personality and a rather wry sense of humour that one wouldn’t have expected from… well, from a _bug_.

As much as people involved with the Stargate program were used to working with aliens, most of those had been humanoid in appearance; and the ones that weren’t, had usually been dangerous and malevolent. So aye, Carson did feel a bit nervous while surrounded by all those bugs – but he guessed he’d have to get used to it, They would have to work with the _Andromeda_ crew on a regular basis… and besides, who could tell what else the Pegasus galaxy was still holding for them? The humanoid form might have been the most regular one wherever the Ancients had been part of a controlled evolution, but it was for sure not the only one.

At least the consultation with the Than scientist had put most of Carson’s concerns to the rest. He could now fully understand the process of Nietzschean conversion, and he judged that the risks were acceptable. In fact, they were practically nonexistent for the boy, as both Hoffans and Satedans usually hit puberty around the age of thirteen. Sure, the growing bone blades would cause a great deal of pain – just like teething by a toddler – and he might have to provide some surgical help when they were about to break through the skin, but that would basically be it.

In the case of Ms Kassai, there would be additional hormonal imbalance to be taken under consideration, caused by a more aggressively active reproduction system than the one she’d been used to. She’d also have to do some serious exercising, to get used to the increasing mass of bones and muscles she was likely to develop… although she was a strong, athletic woman already, so she’d have it easier to deal with the changes than some fragile flower. Of course, Nietzscheans would never offer to transform a fragile flower into one of them, Carson realized with a mental grin, understanding all too well why Tyr and Freya had offered the chance to the Kassai siblings in the first place.

All in all, he decided that he could afford – morally – to help them. In fact, helping them would be a lot less morally ambiguous than letting them go through the process on their own.

He wondered a little why they didn’t want the _Andromeda_ ’s doctor do the task and what Freya might have meant with her being ‘in a fragile state of mind’. Peter Grodin had said that while she was a bizarre, purple alien with a tail, she seemed competent enough. Nay, there must have been some personal quarrel between her and the Nietzscheans, but somehow Carson had the feeling that they wouldn’t tell him the true reason. Not yet. Perhaps never.

Not that it really counted. The sooner they had received this revolutionary genetic treatment, the earlier could he return to his usual work. Not to mention the personally important things in his life. Like becoming a father for the first time – something he’d always wanted, even though he’d never have dreamed about the circumstances. Or persuading a second wife to join their family – something he’d never thought of, but this was a new galaxy, and life here didn’t move along the same lines as back home.

Now that things had taken a more peaceful turn – at least temporarily – they could hope to have a life again. A life outside the labs and potentially lethal situations. As long as it lasted, anyway. This was the Pegasus galaxy, and one didn’t keep one’s hopes too high out there.


	20. Recoveries

**CHAPTER 19 – RECOVERIES**

Harper came to to the uncomfortably familiar feeling of pain. It seemed to him that even his bones ached… nah, make it the very marrow in his bones. He couldn’t remember ever having hurt so much, and with his former life, including his little visit on the Magog world ship, _that_ was saying a lot.

At the same time, however, it seemed as if all that pain had been somehow… removed from his immediate reach. Oh, it was there, of that could be no doubt, but the edge of it was somewhat dulled… as if he’d felt it through several layers of isolation material. It was strange.

With heroic effort, he lifted his leaden eyelids a millimetre or so, but his vision was blurred. Still, he realized that he was in a bed – fastened to it, actually, by soft yet solid restrains – and there were wires and tubes attached to every square inch of him… or so it appeared. The unmistakable smell of antiseptics and the beeping and blinking of nearby machines helped to guess what his location might be.

He was in a hospital somewhere. And they’d probably pumped him full with industrial-strength painkillers, which was why he could actually bear all that hurting. He mentally thanked them, whoever _they_ were.

A face swam into his narrowed field of vision: the face of a man with gentle blue eyes and slicked-back dark hair, unshaven, tired and wearing a worried expression. The second glimpse revealed that said face was attached to a somewhat stocky guy in a white lab coat – a doctor?

“How are ya feelin’, son?” a soft voice with a distinctive accent asked.

He wanted to laugh, as the man certainly wasn’t old enough to be his father, but at the same time his throat tightened painfully. It had been a decade and a half that anyone called him _son_.

He tried to answer – hey, how often did _anyone_ , even his friends, care about his condition? – but found that his throat was too sore for that.

“Och, aye, that’s right,” the voice said. “We had to intubate ya while I was operating; and I’m afraid we didnae have the time to be very gentle about it, with yer inner organs shutting down, one after another. Here, try some ice chips.”

A spoon touched his parched lips, and he opened his mouth obediently to be filled with blessedly cool ice chips. They melted quickly, soothing his sore throat, so that he was actually capable of speaking… well, sort of.

“Awful,” he crackled hoarsely. “But it beats being dead.”

It was so strange to speak English again – and hearing someone _else_ speaking English as well – but in a good way. It felt like home.

“Aye, I’ll take yer word for that,” the voice said with gentle amusement. “Tell me: are ya in much pain?”

He was still too tired to even nod; he just signalled ‘yes’ with the fluttering of his eyelids. “Is… kinda dull, though…” he whispered.

“I certainly hope it is,” his doctor said contently. “I’ve got ya on a steady morphine drip here… it’s _supposed_ to dull the pain.”

So he’d been right. He _was_ in some kind of hospital; and, according to the pain, which he could still feel all too keenly, not without a good reason. Make it several good reasons, actually. Which reminded him of…

“What about… the larvae?” he whispered.

Had they hatched? Nah, he wouldn’t be here in that case. _Nobody_ survived giving birth to those monsters. But he couldn’t feel them like he used to, either. Had the doctors actually found a way to remove them? If they had, it must have been a pretty rough process, or he wouldn’t be feeling three quarters dead.

“You cannae remember?” the doctor’s voice with the funny accent asked.

He considered shaking his head but wisely gave up the idea just in time. “No,” he said. “But they were… close…”

“That they were,” the doctor agreed. “But when ya were attacked by a Wraith, it latched onto the larvae instead of yerself and sucked the very life out of the wee beasties. All I had to do was to remove their dead bodies… and to fix your inner organs. They’d gnawed on ya quite a bit before dyin’.”

Harper closed his eyes, a wave of relief overwhelming him, body and soul. He still couldn’t understand how or why, but he had been freed from the monsters inside him, and lived to tell the tale. That was the only thing that counted. He’d think about the details later.

“Am I… gonna make it?” he asked; even his lips felt heavy like lead.

“Aye, that you are,” the doctor said, “but it’s gonna be a bloody long process, and you’ll hafta follow instructions very closely. You’ve been greatly weakened by the larvae _and_ the operation afterwards. You’ve lost more blood than I’d have thought possible for a human being and still survive.”

“I’m… stubborn that way,” Harper grinned weakly. 

It felt good to be able to do so. The doctor grinned back at him, in a tired but friendly way.

“We’re all very glad for that, lad,” he said. “Now, rest some more. You’ve got to build up your strength steadily.”

Harper could barely hear the last words. He was drifting off to sleep again. And this time, it was real sleep – the sort that helped one to heal.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
When he came to the next time, he felt still terribly weak, but the constant pain had lessened to a dull ache. If possible, there were even more tubes and wires attached to his semi-naked body, and he was itching on several places like crazy. The fact that he couldn’t move his hands to scratch those itches – his arms were still fastened to the bed – only made everything worse.

“Stop wriggling, or you will tear the needles from your veins, boy,” the rich voice of Tyr Anasazi said sternly.

With some effort, he turned his head to the left and discovered the Nietzschean at his beside, sprawled over an armchair like a resting cat. A _really_ big, most likely bloodthirsty cat. Tyr was wearing an outfit Harper hadn’t seen on him before: loose trousers and a wide-cut, belted tunic from some soft, silky fabric. What happened to skin-tight leather pants and chainmail vest? Was Tyr getting soft at his old days?

The thought made him laugh, which reminded him of the soreness of his throat.

“Water…” he crackled. It was strange that his mouth could be so terribly dry, with all those liquids dripping into his veins.

Tyr cradled his head in one of his large palms and held a glass with a straw in it to his lips.

“Slowly,” he warned, “or you will only make yourself sick.”

Harper obeyed, although it required a gargantuan effort not to just gulp it down greedily. To his relief, after his throat had been watered, he felt that he could actually speak again.

“Thanks,” he said, lying back on his pillows, exhausted. “How did you end up… with nurse duty? Have you… pissed off Trance… somehow?”

“I am just visiting,” Tyr answered. “With Freya close to delivering our child and the two new members of my family going through conversion, I spend most of the day here anyway, so I thought I would check on you.”

“ _Conversion_?” Harper’s brain was still muddled from the painkillers, but the term sounded familiar. “You mean turning someone into an _Über_ isn’t just an urban legend?”

“Not at all,” Tyr replied calmly. “My future Second Wife, and her young brother, whom I am planning to adopt as soon as the process has run its circle, have a third of the transformation already behind them. They are doing well, considering the strain the changes put on their system.”

That sounded plausible and also explained why they were in an actual hospital instead of the _Andromeda_ ’s medical deck. Although the doctor who’d visited him before seemed ordinary human enough. No excess muscle, no bone blades… it couldn’t be any Niet hospital. Besides, Niets would never care about the well-being of a scrawny little _kludge_. Which reminded him…

“Where did you find people… desperate enough to… become _Übers_?” he asked, just to bait Tyr a little. “For my part… I can’t see… the attraction…”

“Your judgement is clouded by your past,” Tyr said, completely unfazed, “which is understandable from the point of view of a _klu_ … a mere human. Ms Kassai and her brother, though, have other considerations.”

“Hey, watch it with… the _kludge_ remark,” Harper warned darkly. “And who the heck… is Ms Kassai?”

Tyr frowned, and for some uncomfortable reason, Harper had the feeling the name should have rung a bell. Only it hadn’t.

“The lady doctor who came with us from Hoff,” the Nietzschean finally said, his frown deepening to genuine worry.

Harper stared at him blandly. “From where? You mean we’ve visited… some drift named _Hope_ , and I… managed to miss it? Just my luck…”

“Not _Hope_ ,” Tyr corrected. “ _Hoff_. And it is no drift. It is a planet; the first one we have visited in the Pegasus galaxy.”

“The Pegasus…“ Harper was so agitated that he forgot how exhausted he actually was. “Tyr, are you playing some… sick _Über_ mind game… with me? I’ve never heard of a galaxy… named Pegasus… Well, I _have_ … heard of it, but not even in the heydays… of the old Commonwealth did… anyone go there…”

Tyr pinned him down with one of those intense glares that always made him feel as if the Nietzschean would be looking for the most economic way to dissect him. Alive.

“Are you telling me, boy, that you do not remember us trying our luck with the Mad Perseid’s map again and getting lost in an unknown area of space, three thousand years in the past… not to mention in an alternate reality?”

“We have… _what_?” Harper blinked repeatedly, and for a moment he thought – nah, he _hoped_ – that his mind would shut down in a desperate act of self-defence. Unfortunately, it never happened.

He felt all blood leaving his brain and sweat breaking out all over his skin. The cortical monitor beeped like crazy, and the friendly doctor from before came running, with a cute, almond-eyed nurse in tow, to check on his condition. After a moment, the doctor sighed in relief but seemed still upset, glaring daggers at Tyr.

“What have ya done with him?” he demanded.

Tyr shrugged. “I did nothing. We were talking, and during it he realized that he had forgotten every single thing that had happened to us since arriving here.”

To Harper’s surprise, the doctor didn’t seem all too worried about _that_.

“You’re sufferin' from post-traumatic amnesia,” he explained. “While it’s generally due to a head injury, it isnae unusual after other forms of severe traumata. The good news is, that post-traumatic amnesia is often transient. But even if it proves permanent in yer particular case, ya coudnae have lost too much. Doctor Heightmeyer will have to talk with you in detail, though. The extent of the period covered by the amnesia is related to the degree of the injury and may give an indication of the prognosis for the recovery of other functions.”

Harper frowned. “You mean I’ll have to go to a therapist?” he asked unhappily.

The doctor smiled at him. “Don’t worry about that, son. She’s a darling; you’re gonna love her.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Harper only needed a minute to decide that his doctor (whose name, as he’d learned from the lovely nurse, Julie, was Carson Beckett) had been right: the therapist lady was definitely to his liking. Firstly, she was a beauty: a long-legged, blue-eyed blonde with the delicate face of a porcelain doll. Harper imagined Tyr seething with envy somewhere in the background – the Nietzschean had a definite affinity for just that type of woman. Secondly, she wasn’t half as annoying as he’d feared she would be.

Sure, she shared _one_ annoying routine that every therapist in every galaxy seemed to share: to answer questions with questions of her own. Harper hated when people did that. He told her so in no uncertain terms, but she took no offence, just smiled at him. It was a smile that could make clouds clear away from the sky. In any other situation, it would have made him melt. In the current hone, however, it annoyed him to no end.

“What are you trying to figure out anyway?” he groused.

“I’m trying to figure out whether you’re suffering from post traumatic stress disorder or some other mental illness,” the blonde beauty replied with professional calmness.

That frightened him. “Hey!” he protested. “The Harper is not crazy! I might be a bit… unreasonable or over-zealous sometimes, or wired or hyper, but I’m _not_ crazy!”

“I’m not suggesting that you are,” Dr. Heightmeyer said. “Don’t let the medical term alarm you. I’m only saying that the type of trauma you suffered can have serous repercussions for a person’s mental health. We need to determine how it would be best to treat you, that’s all.”

Harper pulled a face. “No offence, Doc, but I don’t think there could be anything worse than being infected with Magog larvae, and I can all too clearly remember _that_. I wish I could forget it, honestly, but I can’t. So, why do I remember it and the time before but have apparently forgotten everything afterwards?”

“I need to know you and your case a lot better to give a precise answer to that question,” she replied. “But my current theory is that your amnesia is the result of the cumulative effects of two severe traumata happening in close following. If confronted with too much to bear, the human mind can shut down in self-defence.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
“Are you sure about that?” Tyr demanded from doctor Beckett, whom he and Freya had cornered in the infirmary, originally coming for Tyr’s treatment and Freya’s examination.

Carson shrugged. “That’s Doctor Heightmeyer’s opinion, and she’s the expert I such things. I’m a geneticist and a surgeon, not a psychologist.”

“But it is you whom we trust,” Freya said. “You have saved Harper’s life when no-one hoped that there could be any help. We are in your debt.”

“Is the lad a friend of yours?” Carson asked in surprise, because there couldn’t have been any other people more different than the Nietzscheans and the fragile-looking little engineer. Although he suspected that Harper was a lot tougher than he seemed to be.

“He is the only engineer who fully knows how to keep the _Andromeda Ascendant_ in a flawless condition,” Tyr answered. “His skills and knowledge are important factors to ensure our survival. For that reason, his welfare is very much our concern.”

Carson grinned tiredly. He’d been treated to repeated tirades abut the selfishness and the treacherous nature of the Nietzscheans in general and Tyr Anasazi in particular by Captain Valentine, so an answer like this was to be expected. But he had eyes, and he was no fool. He could see that the two genetically engineered superhumans (and wouldn’t he just _love_ to study all that had been done to the Nietzscheans to make them what they had become!) actually cared a lot more for the little engineer than they’d be willing to admit.

He decided _not_ to mention that fact. Even self-absorbed bastards needed to save face sometimes.

“I trust Doctor Heightmeyer’s opinion,” he said, returning to the original topic of their discussion. “She’s a good psychologist – if she weren’t, she wouldnae have been sent to this one-way mission. Also, the fact that Mr. Harper hasnae lost more than a few day’s worth of memories is promising. Don’ forget that he’s gone through severe traumata. In fact, I’m surprised that he hasnae suffered a lot more damage.”

“Harper is resilient, a survivor,” Tyr said. “Or else he would not be here. Very well, then; we shall wait and see how he recovers. What about me, Doctor? How long will I have to continue with the treatment?”

“Yer temporary infertility is as good as cured,” Carson said, knowing already how important that aspect for the Nietzschean was. “You’re gonna need two more shots, and then you’ll be as good as new. Yer nanobots have reacted to the drugs surprisingly well.”

“That is what they are there for,” Tyr replied. “And the Magog DNA in my system?”

“We’re still workin’ on that one,” Carson said. “Based on Mr. Harper’s unexpected recovery from the infestation, we’re experimentin' with the Wraith enzyme, in the hope to clear your bloodstream from all remaining traces. It’s a long shot, though, from lab results to an actual treatment. We don’t wanna damage ya in any way.”

“That,” said the Nietzschean dryly, “will increase your chances of survival enormously. “You can also count on my future Second Wife; she is more than interested in your shared research, and she is very good at what she does, I am told.”

“Aye, she’s an excellent geneticist,” Carson agreed, “but I’m afraid she isnae in the right shape to work at the moment. That conversion thing puts an enormous strain on her system right now.”

Tyr nodded. “It is a somewhat… unpleasant process. Even those who were born Nietzschean suffer when the bone blades break through during puberty. It is even worse for converting adults. The cold wraps help a little, but there is no other way than clench your teeth and hold out, really.”

“Well I’ve helped a wee bit with the freein' of the blades,” Carson said. Then, seeing the darkening face of the Nietzschean, he hurriedly added. “Just a few cuts, honestly. I saw no reason to let their forearms get inflamed or infested. I wouldae done the same thing with troubling wisdom teeth.”

“Nietzscheans,” said Tyr icily, “are supposed to endure pain.”

“Aye, if they have to,” Carson retorted. “But to suffer unnecessarily when it can easily be helped is just plain daft in my eyes.”

For a moment, they glared at each other angrily, neither of them willing to back off. Then Freya laid a soothing hand upon Tyr’s forearm.

“Remember, husband mine,” she said in Vedran, “that these are not the frightened and enslaved _kludges_ of our universe. They will not gravel at your feet in terror, just because you are a Nietzschean. It means nothing to them; they have faced the Wraith and that race they call the Goa’uld and never faltered. Also remember that there are only two of us and an entire galaxy full of them. Alienating them would _not_ be wise.”

Carson didn’t understand a word of what she was speaking, of course, but the cadence was clearly a warning one. There could be no doubt that by all that boisterous Nietzschean attitude, the women were clearly the ones who ruled the Nietzschean family. He decided to ask Captain Valentine later about the role of the First Wife of an Alpha. He’d heard the Nietzscheans use those terms in the conversation with Ms Kassai, and it seemed that they were important titles… for them anyway.

In any case, it seemed to be more practical to remain in _Freya’s_ good graces… just as a pre-emptive measure.

“Would ya like to take a look at yer babe, love?” he asked, ignoring the warning grown from Tyr. He was not going to change his speech patterns, the only thing he had from home, just so that he’d not trigger the territorial instincts of the big Neanderthal. “Doctor Moosekian has succeeded to fix the Ancient medical scanner; it’s a hundred per cent better than x-rays, and it has no side effects whatsoever,” he added, knowing how protective the Nietzscheans could be about their genes.

“I would love to, Doctor,” Freya climbed onto the examination table eagerly.

Carson switched on the device, and pulsing lights began to sweep down the pregnant woman’s body, adjusting the image of the unknown baby on the overhead screen with every new sweep. The scanner also listed a great deal of data about the foetus on the right side of the screen... in Ancient, of course. Carson groaned.

“I shoudae asked Doctor Corrigan or another one of the linguists to write a translation programme months ago,” he complained. “Bloody Ancient writin’s killin' my eyes. But yer baby is a completely healthy little lad, Freya dear, even by the Nietzschean standards you’ve provided me with.”

“Can you estimate the time of delivery?” Freya asked.

“Between four and six days, most likely,” Carson said. “Remember, the wee thing hasnae seen a Nietzschean before. We’ll have to extend the database with your genetic specifications.”

Freya nodded. “That should be just about right. My inner clock says the same.”

“I just hope you shan’t go into labour at the same time as my Anika,” Carson said. “I’d be more reassured if I could oversee yer givin' birth personally… but I wouldnae wish to miss the birth of my first child, either.”

“Your duty is to be with your First in that hour,” Tyr said. “We shall manage. Nietzschean women have, as a rule, a much easier birthing process than _klu_ … than human ones. Besides, Lavinia and Ms Capec will be with Freya.”

“Are you expecting a son or a daughter, Doctor?” Freya asked.

Carson shrugged. “Anika didnae wish to know in advance, so we havnae checked the gender. It’s strong, it’s healthy and it’s ours… that’s all that counts. Radek – Doctor Zelenka – and Marta will be havin' a son, though. Radek was relieved to hear. He already has a little lass, back on Earth; it will be easier for him to have a son, as it wouldnae remind him so much of the lass he has lost.”

“Why has he left his daughter behind?” Freya asked with a frown.

Carson shrugged again. “It wasnae his choice. His ex-wife wouldnae let him even see the lass often enough… besides, Atlantis is not the right place for a child to grow up.”

He was a little surprised when the Nietzscheans nodded in understanding, but he couldn’t know (yet) that in Nietzschean terms, a child first and foremost belonged to its mother. A woman had the right to divorce a male who no longer performed in a satisfying manner, and to take her children with her. It didn’t happen frequently, as Nietzschean women chose their mates very carefully, but it _was_ possible.

“What did Doctor Zelenka lack that his wife divorced him for?” Tyr asked. “That is a fairly drastic step for a female to do.”

“Not among humans, I fear,” Carson replied with a sigh. “Radek doesnae speak about it, but I guess she didnae like that he used to work too much and make too little money.”

“Women divorce their husbands for _that_?” Freya asked in surprise. “While they are still virile and can father healthy children?”

“Afraid so, love,” Carson answered. “Human women just have different priorities than your people. Well, there isnae anything wrong with either of ya, so if ya don’t mind I’d like to look after my own wife. Before she decides to divorce me, for being such an inattentive husband.”

They laughed, and the Nietzscheans made attempts to leave the infirmary. At the door, however, Tyr turned back for a moment.

“Oh, and Doctor… congratulations on acquiring a second wife. I never thought that _kludges_ …that Earth-born humans could be so adaptive. Perhaps there _is_ hope for you yet, after all.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
After having checked out Anika – who was apparently bearing her burden with the natural grace and ease all Athosian women seemed to possess – Carson briefly looked into the ICU to see how Harper was doing. He wasn’t surprised to find Captain Valentine there - she clearly cared for her engineer very much - but seeing Miko Kusanagi at Harper’s bedside was somewhat surprising. Sure, she had come to the infirmary several times in the recent days, to donate some more blood – Harper was still seriously anaemic, and, of course, he just had to have 0-negative blood – but Carson hadn’t realized that the two had become such good friends. Especially considering the fact that Harper had been unconscious, most of the time.

They must have had connected somehow, though, and now Miko was balancing a laptop on her knee – one that had been seriously tuned up with adaptable Ancient technology – and the two of them were having a conversation about artificial intelligences, computer imaging systems, holographic projections, bioneural interfaces and half a dozen other topics Carson didn’t even make a feeble attempt to understand. Captain Valentine’s somewhat glassy eyes revealed that he wasn’t the only one.

Apparently, the memory loss didn’t influence the real time working of Mr. Harper’s remarkable mind at all. Now _this_ was a genius if he’d ever seen one. Carson shuddered by the imagination what would happen once he wouldn’t be able to keep Rodney out of the infirmary any longer and these two would clash with each other. They both seemed to have healthy egos… it promised to be a spectacular firework.

Although Carson wasn’t a betting man by nature, he had the vague idea that should he place a bet, he should have his money on Harper. If the little engineer had the same uncertainties as Rodney, he hid them a hell of a lot better. Maybe working with Nietzscheans had taught him not to show any weaknesses. Carson made a mental note to discuss the topic with Zelenka, once the Czech returned from the mainland. Radek was the local expert about the mysterious workings of Rodney’s mind… and he knew everything about the bets running in Atlantis.

“Still not recoverin’ yer memories, son?” he asked, stepping to Harper’s bed.

Harper shook his head – and winced at the pain that stabbed his temples immediately. “Nope… which is a shame, if you ask me. Beka here tells me I’ve done some first-class engineering on a planet named Hoff, earning the adoration of technically-minded babes… and I can’t remember any of it. Just my luck. For the first time of my life, I have a fan club of my own, and I forget all about it!”

Carson couldn’t help, he had to laugh. For someone with post traumatic amnesia, Harper sure as hell knew how to enjoy himself… and impress the ladies, if Miko’s adoring looks were any indication. Could it be that Miko was finally coming over her crush on Rodney and had found a new object of interest?

Harper grinned at the doctor. “Any ideas how to trigger my sleeping memories, Doctor Beckett?” he asked. “I’d like to get back to my work; Beka says Rommie got banged up badly, and I don’t trust the droids to do any decent work without my eyes on them.”

“Harper, you’re in no shape to crawl along airducts and make any strenuous efforts,” Beka said sternly. “I’m sure Doctor Beckett agrees with me that you need a lot of rest before you can even _think_ of that.” Her blue eyes promised severe retribution, should Carson _not_ agree with her.

“Aye, she’s right at that,” Carson said amiably. “I’ve operated on ya almost five hours, lad, and let me tell ya, it was bloody hard work, in the middle of a siege. I wouldnae have all that labour be for nothin', just 'cause you got bored.”

“But I _am_ bored, Doc,” Harper insisted. “I’m not used to sitting on my lazy ass and doing nothing. I’m an engineer… I _need_ to do something!”

“I’m sure Doctor Kusanagi will be able to give ya enough theoretical problems to brood over,” Carson said dryly, and suppressed an amused smile when saw Miko blush. “Physically, you ain’t fit to do anythin' else than lie here and chat. But for yer memory… I might have an idea.”

“Really?” Harper asked eagerly. “I mean, the therapist lady is nice, not to mention seriously hot, but I’d prefer to have my brain working the same way it used to. What do you have on your mind?”

“I was thinkin' of confrontin' ya with strong impressions that you’ve already experienced,” Carson explained. “That might give ya just the push you need.”

Harper involuntarily scooted back a little on his head. “I hope you’re not talking about those Wraith things,” he said. “I mean, I might not _remember_ them, but man, just the name gives me the creeps.”

“Trust me; nobody here would allow a Wraith to run free in Atlantis,” Carson replied dryly. “Nay, I was thinkin' of somethin' more excitin' – in a good way.”

“You were?” Harper’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “What is that?”

“Now, it would take away the sense of the whole bloody thing if I told ya, wouldnae it?” Carson laughed. “Just wait till you’re a bit steadier on yer feet, and we’ll see how it works out. You’ll love it, I promise.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
“You want to confront him with the _Stargate_?” Theresa Weir asked in surprise. “What do you expect from _that_?”

Carson shrugged. “Well, the others say he was very impressed by the Gate on Hoff, and we know it isnae spectacular, compared to our control room. He’s an engineer – I hope that recognizin’ the Gate will help trigger his memories.”

Theresa looked at Heightmeyer. “Do you agree with this, Kate?”

“It won’t harm him in any way,” the psychologist replied, “since it was a positive experience. It _might_ help, yes. But there are no guarantees.”

“I know,” Carson said. “I just wanna keep tryin’. He’s very frustrated by the memory loss – who wouldnae? – and wishes to return to work as soon as possible.”

“Is he in any shape to do so?” Theresa asked.

Carson shook his head. “Nay, he isnae. He needs at the very least two more weeks before he could start with light duty. Although I’m afraid the lad hasnae a clue what _light_ duty means.”

“Have you decided whether you should allow Rodney to visit him yet?” Theresa asked.

“I’m tryin' to keep him out of the infirmary for a tad longer… say, another day or so,” Carson answered doubtfully, “but it isnae easy. Rodney is way too curious to stay off much longer… and I’d hate to have to set his nose, should Captain Valentine break it. She’s very protective about the lad; I was surprised that she let Doctor Kusanagi in at all.”

“She’s quiet, she’s friendly, and it was her blood that saved Mr. Harper’s life… aside from your own skills,” Theresa reminded him.

“She also seems havin' taken a shine to the lad,” Carson said with a grin. “They talk shop all the time, and she keeps blushin’. It’s actually rather cute.”

“I can imagine,” Theresa smiled. “At least Mr. Harper doesn’t make her cry all the time… or does he?”

“Nay, he just flirts with her shamelessly,” Carson laughed. “It works wonders for her self-esteem – which is a good thing, if ya ask me. It was a real shame how Rodney treated her… and she just kept swallowin’ it without protest.”

Theresa sighed. “I know. Peter used to complain about it, but what could we do? As long as Miko didn’t file any complaints, our hands were bound. At least Doctor Zelenka stood up for her a few times.”

“Radek has a lot more courage than one would expect,” Carson agreed. “Speakin' of which, Doctor Weir, I need to go now. My jumper to the mainland starts in twenty minutes.”

“You aren’t flying it yourself, are you?” Theresa asked worriedly.

Carson shook his head. “Not if I can avoid it. Lisa volunteered. We need to go through the Athosian bondin' ceremony anyway, and the birth of a child requires the presence of all available family members, too.”

Theresa nodded. By marrying an Athosian woman in the first place, Carson had accepted Athosian marital customs. He was not the only one, and there would be more in the future. Of that she was certain. It hadn’t surprised her at all that – after the loss of Aiden – Lisa Lindstrom had accepted Carson and Anika’s offer. They were far from home, all alone in a foreign and often hostile galaxy. It was to be expected that people would start looking for some substitute of home.

What she had seen of Athosian clan marriages so far suggested that it wasn’t such a bad solution. Members of an Athosian family never needed to fear of remaining alone. Families grew and expanded all the time, to make up for lost members. The Athosian family was a warm and secure cocoon for the individual. And yet it was so profoundly different from all that they had known of home…

“Have you ever asked yourself whether you’ve done the right thing?” she asked Carson. 

The doctor thought about that for a moment; then he shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I know the way I live here would never be accepted at home. It would be considered scandalous, perhaps even perverted. But we’re very far from home, Theresa, and there aren’t any guarantees that we’ll ever get back again. If we wanna survive, we need to adapt. This is not our galaxy out there. It has its own set of rules; we are just guests, we are the ones who have to accommodate.”

“Still, living in polygamy…” she murmured.

“Clan marriage,” Carson corrected firmly. “My family happens to contain two wives. Stackhouse’s used to contain two husbands, until Markham’s death. Radek’s contains two of each, and two children who ain’t even related by blood. Polygamy, polyandry… those are Earth terms that ain’t eligible here.”

“Should we give up anything that we’ve brought from home, then?” she asked doubtfully.

“Just what doesnae work for this galaxy,” Carson replied with a shrug. “Clan marriages have worked for the Athosians for millennia. And with the uneven numbers of men and women among us, we couldnae follow Earth customs much longer anyway.”

“There is some truth in that,” Theresa admitted. “But we can’t simply take over the customs of the Pegasus galaxy natives, either. We need to create our own values and traditions. Keep from our old customs all that works and see what we can adopt from our allies.”

“That can take a long time and a lot of work,” Carson warned. “And since we’re already speakin’ of such things, Theresa – you should listen to yer heart and try to make this… whatever there is between ya and Peter work. He’s a good man. A decent man. There’s no need for ya to stay alone any longer.”

“I don’t even know if he would be interested at all,” Theresa tried to laugh but it didn’t really work. “I’ve made a fool of myself already when he got back with the _Andromeda_. I can’t…”

“What’s it that ya cannae do, lass?” Carson asked. “Are ya afraid he might reject you?” As she didn’t answer, he shook his head. “He won’t. I happen to know that he dearly loves the sight of you. He’s just a bit on the shy side. Just like yerself. And while you both are discreetly waitin' for the other to make the first step, life’s gonna leave you both behind.” He took Theresa’s hand between his larger ones and gave it an encouraging squeeze. “You’re a fighter, lass. Don’t give up on yer own happiness. It would be a cryin' shame.”

This time, Theresa’s laughter rang a tad truer. “Are you giving Peter the same speech?” she asked.

Carson nodded emphatically. “Och aye, that I intend to do, as soon as I’m back from the mainland. I cannae watch the two of you standin’ apart and pinin’ for each other any longer.”

With that, he leaned in, kissed her on the cheek in a ridiculously fatherly manner, and ran up the stairs that led to the jumper bay, where Lisa and Anika were already waiting for him. It was time to set off, so that their first child could be born on fertile soil, as Athosian tradition demanded.


	21. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The things about the Gate are necessary repetitions, as Harper needed to be told again, due to his amnesia. My apologies.

**EPILOGUE**

“So,” Harper asked the good doctor, “where exactly are you gonna take me?”

Carson smiled. “To the Gate room of Atlantis.”

Harper glanced up into his face doubtfully. “And you believe I’m gonna find it familiar… why again?”

"'Cause you’ve already seen somethin' similar,” the doctor answered. "It might trigger your memories… or so we hope. Now, go on, the technicians are waitin’ for ya.”

The elaborately decorated door panels turned automatically to the side to allow him in, and Harper stepped into the dimly lit room, looking around with genuine interest. He had to admit that the place was awesome, even if there wasn’t much going on at the moment. Mottled blue light seeped down from a ceiling so high above that it disappeared up into darkness, casting the curved, elegant design in shadows that stretched out in all directions. Perhaps not surprisingly for a place named after a sunken mythical city, the arrangement made one think that they were deep underwater.

In front of him a wide staircase rose, leading to other levels and balconies that arched as if the place were a palace. Or an old-fashioned opera house.

“Man,” escaped from Harper before he could hold back, “this is a frigging ballroom!”

A handsome, dark-skinned man looked up from his elaborate control panel and smiled, white teeth gleaming in his dusky face. He seemed vaguely familiar, but right now Harper couldn’t really place him.

“Not quite,” he said with a supremely… educated accent that made Harper feel painfully inadequate and to hate the man instantly for it. Who was this guy anyway, the lost prince of Ultima Thule or what? “Although we did throw a party here once,” the man continued. “But mostly, it’s the Gate room – no more and no less.”

“Gate room, huh?” now Harper was sure they were making fun of him. “I don’t see any gate here.”

“It’s right behind you,” the man said, still grinning.

Harper turned around slowly, prepared for some elaborate joke. What he saw was a huge circle in a vertical position, the lower rim of which disappeared beneath the floor of the room. Well, it was big enough for a slipfighter to fly through, so one could call it a gate, for the sheer size of it. But actually, it was just an empty circle, made of some unknown material. Strange symbols were glittering blue all around it, like on some gigantic cloak-face.

“So _that_ ’s the gate, eh?” Harper eyed it with a frown. “And where’s it supposed to take you?”

“To other planets,” the dark-skinned man replied matter-of-factly.

“To… other… _planets_ ,” Harper repeated blandly. “You think I’m an idiot, don’t you?”

“Not at all,” Mr. Dark-and-Handsome replied calmly. “If you’d care to come over here to my console, I can show you how it works.”

Still suspicious that they were pulling his leg, Harper walked over to him, not even noticing as he moved that small white lights were blinking on on his trail.

The inhabitants of Atlantis noticed it all too well, though, and they exchanged meaningful looks behind his back. The small lights were usually turned off for the night shift to save energy; they only came back online when somebody with a strong natural ATA gene walked over them. Strong being the key word there. So far, only Major Sheppard and Dr. Kusanagi had triggered the automated reaction.

The control panel itself looked like some bizarre instrument with large, rhomboid keys to push, Harper decided. He also noticed that the keys bore the same symbols as the large circle – the _Gate_ – across the room. That couldn’t have been mere coincidence.

“Look,” the technician, or whatever his function was, said, “this is the dial-up device. There are unnumbered possibilities for these symbols to combine, and many of them represent a code that would connect our Gate with another one, on a different planet. Six symbols represent coordinates in space that determine the location of a planet with a Stargate, plus we need a seventh one, the point of origin. Which is this place, where we are now.”

Harper nodded. That actually made sense – in theory. That was how you triangulated a fix point in three-dimensional space. So yes, he understood the idea behind the whole thing. The practice, however, seemed impossible to him.

“I understand how you navigate,” he said. “But how do you do the actual travelling?”

“The two Gates build up a temporary wormhole, one of which we can keep open for thirty-eight minutes per dial,” the other man explained. “I could bore you to death with details about molecular decompression and the likes, but honestly, what’s the point? It _works_. We all have gone through the Gate and came out unharmed on the other side. The actual technology is millennia beyond our knowledge, although I’m sure Doctor Zelenka here would love to share some of his more… _creative_ theories with you.”

“ _Ne, ne_ ,” the slight, wild-haired man sitting at the nearby console shook his head… and had to put his glasses back in place, as they were sliding down his nose. “No time. Must watch deep space sensors for Wraith hive ships. Must calculate their courses and drop-outs for Major Vogel.”

He had a strong accent, different from that of the others, and Harper had the feeling that English probably wasn’t his first language. But the apparent existence of deep space sensors interested him more than the man’s person at the moment, so he strolled over.

“Found anything yet?” he asked, leaning causally on the dead and dark part of the console.

The thing lit up under his fingertips with a rainbow of multicoloured lights, causing collective gaps and wide-eyed astonishment by all Atlantis personnel present.

“That,” Dr. Zelenka swallowed hard – several times – before he could speak again, “that was _spectacular_. Not even Major Sheppard had ever got this strong reaction, and he’s man with strongest natural gene here.”

“Aye, that _was_ remarkable,” Carson nodded. “But first, we should do what we’ve come here in the first place. You said we can count on the return of Sergeant Stackhouse’s team, right?”

“Any time now,” the technician answered, and in the same moment, an alarm began to sound.

“Incoming wormhole,” another technician, this one somewhat younger and almond-eyed, looked over to them. “I read Sergeant Stackhouse’s IDC.”

“Lower the shield,” Mr. Dark-and-Handsome ordered.

The technician threw a switch, and in the next moment the middle of the empty circle turned molten blue, like the rippling surface of a small lake. And through that semi-liquid horizon, a group of soldiers marched into the Gate room, seemingly out of nowhere.

And in a flash of memory, Harper saw the Hoffan cave, with the same circle of grey metal, and Hoffan soldiers marching through the blue puddle of light. He turned away from the Gate, looked at the dark-skinned man behind the console and remembered seeing him, bloody and battered, on the _Andromeda_ ’s hangar deck.

“Your name is Grodin, isn’t it?” he asked, a little tentatively.

The man nodded. “It is. You guys saved me from certain death but a few weeks ago. Right now, however, I think Carson should check you for the ATA gene. You can’t imagine how important that is.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Everyone was just as surprised as Carson and Peter had been to hear that Harper had the ATA gene – well, everyone save Major Vogel, that is, who’d seen the life-sign detector react to the little engineer during the siege. He’d just forgotten about it in all the hassle. Which was understandable, considering the fact that he’d had to go back to infirmary with his reopened feeding wound shortly thereafter.

Now, however, he was fully healed again, and the memory of the Ancient tool reacting to Harper resurfaced again.

“He told me he had touched something in the Gate room of the Hoffans, and the thing began to sparkle in multicoloured lights,” Tyr remembered. “The Hoffans said that the machines reacted like that sometimes, but they had no idea what the cause might have been.”

“That’s interesting,” Rodney said. “This would be the first time that we found ATA gene carriers in the Pegasus galaxy. The Athosians don’t have it all, and not even the gene technology works for them… as if the Ancients had deliberately left it out of their genetic make-up. Or blocked it some way.”

“Of course, the thought to test the Hoffans never occurred to us,” Carson added thoughtfully. “We were… otherwise occupied at that time. I’d like to do it at some time, though.” He looked at Theresa. “Findin' natural gene carriers in the Pegasus galaxy could change the balance of power considerably… and endanger the Hoffans even more. This possibility mustnae be mentioned anywhere outside this room.”

Dylan Hunt, who’d recovered aboard the _Andromeda_ as well as it was possible for a person of a hundred and thirty-something years and accepted an invitation to visit Atlantis, shifted in his seat.

“Can you tell me what exactly this ATA gene is?” he asked.

“It’s a genetic fingerprint,” Carson explained, “which allows someone such as me to operate any technology on Atlantis. I was actually born with the gene, just like Doctor Kusanagi and several other people, which makes us much more proficient at operating Ancient technology.”

“Right, and you forget the point where you’re deadly afraid to use it, which makes you an even lousier pilot than I am,” Rodney commented.

Carson gave him an annoyed look but refused to answer. 

“In any case,” he continued, “I developed an inoculation which allows those who don’t naturally possess the gene, such as Doctor McKay, to be able to use _some_ of the Ancient technology as well. Of course, an artificial gene never works quite as well as a natural one,” he added smugly.

“I see,” Dylan said thoughtfully. “Is it possible, then, that these Ancients of yours once existed in our universe, too?”

“Theoretically… aye, it _is_ possible,” Carson replied. “Although it’s not bloody likely, considering how far apart our realities are.”

“Well, in _our_ reality, the Pegasus galaxy has been quarantined for millennia,” Dylan reminded him, “because all scout ships sent there either got lost or returned with the desiccated corpses of a dead crew aboard.”

“That would mean that at least the Wraith must exist there, too,” Teyla said with a frown.

“But if they do, the Ancients must have existed there, too,” Rodney pointed out. “We do know that the Wraith were created when the Ancients accidentally introduced human DNA to the iratus bugs. No Ancients, no Wraith.”

“Those people could have encountered the iratus bug itself,” Carson said.

Rodney shrugged. “Perhaps. But the ATA gene is definitely of Ancient origins. If Harper has it, there _had_ to be Ancients on Earth at some point of its history. What happened to them? Why aren’t there any Stargates in your reality… and no Goa’uld either, for that matter?”

“Their history must have run along very different lines,” Dr. Corrigan, the head archaeologist of Atlantis said. “Perhaps they never built Stargates, concentrating their research on building startships instead. Without Stargates, the Goa’uld of your reality are perhaps still swimming in the primordial waters of P3X-888, fighting with the local Unas for dominance.”

“And what happened to the Ancients?” Theresa asked. “Have they all ascended and left this level of existence behind?”

“That would be one possible explanation, yes,” Corrigan answered. “It would explain why not even the Commonwealth had ever heard of them, despite consisting of three galaxies and having a level of technology to their disposal that rivals that of the Ancients.”

“Or perhaps they are a completely different species in our reality,” Dylan said. “The Vedrans certainly…”

Carson shook his head. “No, Captain. The Ancients were entirely humanoid. In fact, they were the first manifestation of the human form, That is why some of us were born with a natural ATA-gene.”

“Does this mean that other members of my crew could also have the gene?” Dylan asked.

“In theory, aye,” Carson said. “But in fact Mr. Harper is the only one who actually has it. I assume all that genetic engineerin' you folks are so fond of has the gene removed from the stock everywhere but on Earth.”

The gleeful smile spreading all over Harper’s face could have illuminated a rainy day.

“Oh, this is rich,” he declared smugly. “I’ve been treated like some street rat all my life because I’m an nonenhanced little mudfoot from Earth, and it turns out that all those wonderful enhancements have gotten rid of the gene that can make the coolest technology in four galaxies work! Man I do so love poetic justice! Speaking of which... can I object to the _Übers_ getting the artificial thing? They’ve got every other advantage; it would be only fair that they should leave _something_ to other people.”

“There’s no need for ya to object, Mr. Harper,” Carson said, ignoring Tyr’s growl. “The gene therapy wouldnae work for Nietzscheans. The drastic changes in their genetic make-up make them incompatible.”

“What about us?” Beka asked. “I mean, Dylan won’t be flying any combat missions, due to his current shape,” she glanced at Hunt apologetically, “but I’d love to try my hand on one of those puddle jumpers of yours. And you could use another experienced pilot.”

“We can try,” Carson said doubtfully, “but I wouldnae be too optimistic, love. Even regular humans of yer universe have been genetically tampered with to an extent that would make the gene therapy… well, risky at best. I’d say we should stick to Mr. Harper, for the time bein’. His natural gene is so strong it matches Major Sheppard’s, at the very least. In fact, it’s quite extraordinary.”

“The Harper is extraordinary,” the little engineer said in deep satisfaction. “That’s sweet. I think I’m beginning to love this galaxy.”

The others laughed. Perhaps Beka was the only one who had at least an inkling what it truly meant the often-ridiculed little mudfoot to have something – and something of such profound importance – that the others couldn’t even hope to have. There was something in the eyes of the Lantean people that hadn’t been offered Harper all too frequently: respect. One couldn’t blame him for basking in it a little.

“But what do you need me for?” he asked. “You guys have got plenty of people with the natural gene, haven’t you?”

“Sure,” Theresa replied, “but nobody has one quite as strong as yours. Atlantis reacts better and faster to the stronger natural genes, and sometimes even seconds can matter.”

Harper digested that piece of information for a moment… then his eyes widened in awe. “You mean the city is _sentient_?” he asked.

“Well, yes… more or less,” Rodney answered. “I mean, it’s not only a _city_ , you know, it’s also a _starship_ , and it’s only logical that she would react the same way as the jumpers do to their pilots, and…”

“ _Rodney_!” Theresa’s voice was sharp and disapproving. “I thought we’ve agreed that this particular aspect of Atlantis won’t be discussed for the time being. “No offence intended,” she added, glancing at Hunt, “but I’m sure _you_ won’t spread the blueprints of your ship right away, either. Not even for allies.”

Dylan nodded. “True enough.”

“Man!” Harper had recovered from his shock in record time. “A starship of the size of a city… That’s more than anything even the Commonwealth could come up in its heyday! You mean she can actually _fly_?”

“She _could_ , if we had the right energy source; which, unfortunately, we don’t,” Rodney answered impatiently. “Same problem we have with powering up the Gate enough to get home.”

“You mean you’d need one of those _zippo_ things?” Harper asked.

Rodney glared daggers at him. “ _Zed-P-M_ ,” he corrected, emphasizing every syllable as if he’d be speaking to a particularly slow-witted child. “They’re called ZedPM: zero point modules, because… forget it, we can discuss the particulars later. Bottom line is: no, _one_ of the things can’t make Atlantis fly. For that trick, you’d need _three_ of them. Regularly, the city should be equipped with six ZedPMs to be fully operable. Unfortunately, we don’t even have a single one. Atlantis is a ten-thousand-year-old relic, the energy sources of which have been completely depleted while she was sitting on the bottom of the ocean.”

“The shield,” Harper guessed. “It must have had a force-field to withstand the pressure of so much water.”

“Right,” Rodney said. “And since our _naquadah_ generators can’t produce nearly enough energy to operate the shield, we’re practically sitting ducks. Target practice for the Wraith or anyone who can shoot at us from orbit.”

“That is why we’re so relieved to have the _Andromeda_ above us,” Theresa Weir added. “Until we find an alternate energy source, you’re our first line of defence.”

“We’ll have to leave in short order, though,” Dylan said. “The ship has suffered severe damage in the battle with those Wraith hive ships. We need to make repairs in order to remain battle-ready.”

“Can our engineers help you with that?” Theresa asked. “I mean, we need to repair the damage in Atlantis, too, but we surely can spare a few people, now that Doctor Zelenka has recovered.”

Dylan looked at Harper. “What do you think, Mr. Harper?”

“Well, the first order of things would be to take _Andromeda_ into the asteroid belt, so that she can mine for the necessary minerals,” Harper answered, “but yeah, some help would be good. Especially now that the bugs are gone to take care of their spawn. We’re seriously undermanned in the machine shops, boss.”

“Discuss the details with Doctor McKay and Doctor Zelenka,” Theresa said. “They would know whom they can let go for a while. Can you take a couple of our geologists with you though? We need to look for _naquadah_ , in order to build some more generators to replace the ones we’ve lost. There is but a small chance to find _naquadah_ here, extremely rare mineral as it is, but we need to try, at the very least.”

Dylan nodded. “I see no problem with that. Send any scientist you want. It will be good to have more people on board again. Sometimes the ship seems so… empty.”

“Just like the city,” Theresa replied with a wistful smile. “All right, then; one thing settled, several hundreds to go. Carson, how’s medical research on the Magog DNA versus Wraith enzyme going?”

“We’ve managed to clear Mr. Anasazi’s system of all traces of Magog DNA,” Carson replied. “Still workin' on the possibility of using it to neutralize the Wraith feeding enzyme, but that’s a long shot. I cannae guarantee you any quick results.”

“Is there any chance to use Magog DNA as a weapon against the Wraith?” Tyr asked.

Carson gave him an appalled look. “I’m not workin’ on a bloody biological weapon here, man!” he protested.

“Perhaps you should,” Tyr said calmly. “You _klu_ … you _humans_ can be so unreasonable sometimes. Do you believe the Wraith would hesitate to eat or murder any of you, in order to find a way to your precious Earth, where they could eat the rest of your people?”

“That’s no reason to commit genocide,” Carson snapped.

“You display the same sentimental folly the Commonwealth showed towards the Magog,” Tyr said. “You must stop thinking of the Wraith as _people_. Yes, they are sentient, but they are also ruthless monsters who do not consider you anything else but dinner. Kill them, or they will kill you. It is that simple.”

“That attitude wouldn’t make us any better than they are,” Kirkitadze said dryly.

“And all your _current_ attitude would make you is a desiccated corpse with a good conscience,” Tyr retorted. “You humans truly disgust me with your moralising stupidity. When your survival is at stake, you cannot afford the luxury of being concerned about ethics.

“That is _your_ view on life,” Theresa said coolly, the Diamond Than’s warnings echoing in her mind. “We happen to see things differently.”

“Fine,” Tyr growled. “Be a fool. I am certain that I can find other people in this galaxy with a healthier sense of self-preservation.”

“You already have,” his Second Wife, now fully equipped with bone blades and superhuman strength, said calmly. “My government is more than interested… and our scientists have the necessary samples to do our own research.”

Theresa gave her a bewildered look. “But you’re already immune against the enzyme!”

“That’s true,” Lavinia Anasazi replied, “but we’d like to beat the Wraith without using our own bodies as a weapon. A Wraith feeding attempt, even an unsuccessful one, is anything but pleasant.”

Harper, Dylan and Major Vogel shuddered in unison.

“No kidding,” the major said. “However, I personally do have a problem with biological warfare… or with genocide, plain and simple. My people have done it before – or, at the very least, they tried. Our entire society is still suffering from the consequences. Nietzscheans might not have a problem with it, but mere humans aren’t made to carry that sort of burden for generations.”

“A strange statement for a soldier,” Tyr commented.

“Not really,” Vogel said. “As you say, I’m a soldier. I might have to kill to protect others, but I’m not a murderer.”

“And I ain’t one of those mad scientists bound for world domination,” Carson added. “My experiences on Hoff have shown me clearly where the line is I wouldnae cross.”

Tyr shrugged. “It is your funeral. Yours and of those who will die just because you are too queasy to use the weapon that could save them.”

Carson became red-faced with indignation, but Theresa raised a hand before he could think of a suitably sharp answer.

“This is a topic for a longer and more specific discussion,” she said. “For the time being, let’s figure out the best way to cooperate as we go: step by step. Rodney, see that you select the engineers who’ll go with the _Andromeda_. I’ll reinstate connections with Hoff, so that Mr. Anasazi and those Perseid gentlemen who are still there can have an easier way to travel. Everything else will right itself in time… or so I hope. Any other things we need to discuss right now?”

There were none. The details would need time and a lot of work to be figured out.

“Good,” she said. “This meeting is adjourned, then. I’m expected in the infirmary to greet our newest citizens, now that they have finally returned from the mainland.”

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Athosian tradition demanded that a child should have close ties with the soil of the planet he or she lived on. Usually, they were conceived and born on the naked earth, and they spent the first six years of their lives planet-bound, unless they had to flee from a culling – an all too frequent event in the Pegasus galaxy. Despite their rural lifestyle, they knew well enough how to use technology, though… they just chose a life close to nature. It also made them less visible to the Wraith, but that wasn’t the main reason. First and foremost, they wanted to form a close bond with their homeworld, whichever planet that happened to be.

That Anika and Marta would come to Atlantis after less than two weeks of giving birth was highly unusual. Atlantis might be the city of the Ancestors and thus considered a sacred place by many, but it was also an artificial structure, made of cold metal. The Athosians – with the sole exception of Teyla – only came there when it was inevitable. Sentient or not, it felt dead to them, unlike the soil of the mainland.

But Anika and Marta had both unusual families. They had bound themselves o the Earth people, and the part of the family that lived in Atlantis had the right to be with the children as well. So they had decided for a short visit, making both Carson and Radek very happy. Besides, the children needed their basic inoculations, so it was only reasonable to come to the infirmary and be done with it in one session.

When Theresa Weir entered the maternal ward, she saw an idyllic picture unfold before her eyes. Radek Zelenka, his bruises faded almost into nothingness, was holding his son, whom they had named Toran, after Marta’s late husband who’d been taken by the Wraith at the same tame as Colonel Sumner. The baby had Marta’s colouring and soft features, but the intense blue eyes of his father. In the official records of Atlantis, he was mentioned as Toran Aleksandr (after Radek’s brother) Zelenka, but Toran was the name that actually mattered.

Anika and Carson’s daughter, Fiona (named after Carson’s mother) was a curly blonde, blue-eyed baby, who already furrowed her tiny brow the same way her father did when confronted with a serious problem. It was an adorable sight, and her second Mum, tough-as-nails ace pilot Lisa Lindstrom, visibly melted into a puddle at it. Theresa had the feeling that Lt. Lindstrom would be asking for maternity leave, sooner or later.

And then there was Tamerlane Anasazi: a baby boy of considerable size, with a caramel skin somewhere between the colouring of his mother’s and his father’s, jet-black hair coiled in tight curls, and his father’s amber eyes. His little arms were still smooth, with only barely noticeable bumps where one the vicious bone blades would break through. Freya and Lavinia both radiated pride and happiness, and Leonidas Anasazi, as the former Leuk Kassai was called now, was every bit the proud big brother. He, too, looked fully Nietzschean now, his still growing bone blades neatly flattened against his forearms, and he’d begun to grow out his hair in the same fashion as Tyr wore his.

Watching the new families, Theresa understood that Carson had been right. They were leading a life here that was very different from the one they had left behind on Earth. For Radek and Carson – and for Stackhouse, too, whose wife was due to give birth any time now – future was here in the Pegasus galaxy.

And regardless if they ever found a way to reconnect with Earth, many might follow them indeed.

Perhaps she should make that first, all-deciding step towards Peter Grodin as well. This was her life now, too, and as Carson had said, there was no reason to spend it alone.

 *** * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ***  
Tyr Anasazi out of Victoria by Barbarossa was standing on the observations deck of the _Andromeda Ascendant_ and looking down at the planet Lantia in deep satisfaction. His First Wife had given birth to a strong and healthy son, with excellent genes. His Second would follow suit soon enough. As soon as her body had fully recovered from the strain the changes had put on it. Tyr was looking forward to fathering another child, but he was in no particular hurry. It was important that Lavinia would be in best health at the time of conception; and besides, they had time.

Time that he needed to put to best use to teach his adopted son what it meant to be a Nietzschean, and a Kodiak at that. Leonidas was eleven years old – almost a man in Nietzschean terms – but he had not benefited from the traditional teaching and training a Kodiak child would get in its youngest years. They had a lot to catch up with – and later, when Leonidas had learned enough, Tyr would take him to some deserted planet and test his survival skills in the Kodiak survival ritual. Then and only then would Leonidas truly be allowed to put down his childhood name and wear the proud one he had been gifted upon.

So yes, he had time. He was virile and healthy again, thanks to the efforts of his Second and the _kludge_ doctor. He’d have enough time to father more children with the wives he already had… and to look out for other wives, adding promising genetic traits of other human fractions to the Kodiak gene pool; perhaps even find some more potential converts. He was good at long-time plotting. His previous life had taught him patience.

Right now, his place was aboard the _Andromeda_ , no matter how much he would have preferred to stay in Atlantis with his family. He had not forgotten Rev Bem’s warnings. He needed to keep an eye on Trance, in case she was going to try something foolish or dangerous – or both. Rommie had promised to watch the creature, but Tyr didn’t trust anybody but himself when it came to the safety of his family.

All in all, his plans were developing nicely. They might be lost in a foreign galaxy – in a foreign universe, to be more accurate – but they had a bright future before them. A much brighter one that he could have hoped for at home. Sure, at home he would have done anything to take his vengeance on the Drago-Kazov Neanderthals. But here he could recreate his entire people, making a whole race bear his genetic stamp. What could a Nietzschean have wished for more?

Immortality, in the form of countless progeny, was within his reach. So was power and leadership in a galaxy that needed strong leaders against a mighty foe. He was determined to grab both and make his name unforgettable.

~The End~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of this particular story. Yes, I know it’s an open end, and a sequel is already in the planning phase. Watch out for “The Legend Continues” in this place.


End file.
